


Hermione Granger and the Philosopher's Stone

by hermione_jean_granger



Series: The Hermione Granger Saga [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter from Hermione's perspective, Hermione Granger POV, Hermione Granger and the Philosopher's Stone, Hermione Granger and the Sorcerer's Stone, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Hermione's Story, Hogwarts, Hogwarts First Year, POV Hermione Granger, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Slow Build, Slow Burn, The Golden Trio, as canon as possible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:54:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26247481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermione_jean_granger/pseuds/hermione_jean_granger
Summary: Hermione Granger had always been special, but it wasn't until a peculiar woman arrived at her doorstep with a mysterious letter that anyone realized how extraordinary she really was. This woman was the bearer of astonishing news: Hermione Granger was a witch! And thus began her journey into a world of unparalleled magic and excitement.That's right, you heard me correctly: this is The Philosopher's Stone (or Sorcerer's Stone) from Hermione's POV! I have done my best to make it as canon as possible (obviously there are stories and plots I have created for the sake of filling in the gaps and giving backstory) and am trying to write it in the most Harry Potter-esque style as possible.(and yes, I plan to do every book if I can!)
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: The Hermione Granger Saga [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906798
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. The Girl Who Knew

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!! I am so so glad to be back writing on here. I thought it only fitting to make my first post of this work go up on September 1st, as we would all be going back to Hogwarts today :) This is something I have been writing on and off for a few months and I am so incredibly proud of it. Stay tuned for updates, as I will be doing my best to keep them as frequent as possible!
> 
> Be sure to leave a comment down below telling me your thoughts!

Hermione Granger had never been normal. It was her parents’ greatest pride, having a daughter who could recite the entire alphabet perfectly at three years old and do her times tables by the time of her sixth birthday. She was nothing short of genius, and her marks reflected it. Always the teacher’s pet, Hermione had never had detention, never gotten sent home from school for bad behavior, never even so much as received a tardy; she was absolutely perfect on paper.

It made sense in examining her family tree. Hermione’s parents were exceedingly clever, both being successful dentists. They met during the pursuit of their further education, and fell in love at the age of nineteen while attending the City of London Dental School. Their passion for their work was evident, but the road to success was a winding one. Before Hermione was born, the two spent much time feebly trying to grow their client base while working for other dentists in the area. Money was tight, but they had each other and the hope that their hard work would pay off.

In the end it did, and just in time, too. Six months after opening their own practice, they found out about the pregnancy. Always having wanted a girl, Mrs. Granger was over the moon, collecting paint swatches for the nursery and writing down names whenever they came to her. Mr. Granger, who had been vocal about his desire for a son, tried to hide the involuntary tears welling up in his eyes as the doctor told them the news. These tears were not out of sadness or regret, however, but rather the growing thought of how proud he would one day be of his little girl.

They settled on the name Hermione after Mrs. Granger discovered it during a reread of William Shakespeare’s _A Winter’s Tale_. She shouted out to her husband, who had been attempting to install some kind of impossible-to-build shelving in the nursery, in excitement as soon as she saw it on the page. It was a beautifully unusual name, and both of them felt that it captured the essence of what they wanted their daughter to be; Hermione was both virtuous and fiercely loyal to those she loved.

And so, she came into the world with a loving family ready to welcome her with open arms. Mr. and Mrs. Granger knew that, no matter what or who their little Hermione wanted to be, they would support it and aid her in any way possible. Mr. Granger even scoffed at the parents who forced their children to pursue the same path as they had; _although,_ he thought, _it would be quite lovely if she was keen on the field of dentistry and felt inclined to take over the family business…_

It became abundantly clear to the couple early on that they had created a very intelligent human being. Hermione said her first word (‘mama’) just after she turned six months old, leaving her parents teary eyed and blooming with pride. She was reading at a much higher level than expected when she first entered primary school, and her teachers were quite impressed with the pace at which she processed information and directions. Eager to please, Hermione was constantly volunteering to answer questions, erase the chalkboard, or deliver the attendance papers to the front office. She grew accustomed to earnestly ignoring the sniggers of her classmates any time her tiny arm shot into the air to provide an answer to a times table or correct the grammar of a sentence.

Her greatest struggle came in the form of making friends. Hermione was never one to compromise her own opinions or beliefs for the sake of others, even at a young age. Her blunt nature was her downfall, and she often spent recess alone, quietly drawing pictures in the sand or picking flowers to bring back to her desk. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were well informed on the issue by Hermione’s teachers, who universally adored her and were disheartened at observing the interactions between her and her classmates.

“It just seems as though she struggles with… honesty.” explained her second year teacher, Ms. Taylor. 

“Has she been lying? What about?” Mrs. Granger asked nervously. Mr. Granger gently placed a hand on top of hers, clasped tightly in her lap.

“Oh no, quite the contrary. Hermione is exceptionally… candid with the other children.”

Silence hung in the classroom. “I’m sorry, I just don’t really understand the problem.” said Mr. Granger, kindly. 

“I can see how it might sound odd out of context. From my point of view, the other children are a bit… put off by her unwillingness to agree with them. Most students at this age tend to put on something of a mask to please others, to make friends. Hermione, interestingly, is uncompromising when it comes to her character and integrity.”

“I see…”

“Of all the problems to have, it’s on the positive end of the spectrum. You both have done a wonderful job of raising a confident and bright little girl, and I’m hopeful that, with time, the others will see her bluntness as an asset rather than a nuisance.”

From this point forward, the Grangers tried everything they could to aid Hermione’s people skills. They taught her to introduce herself to the others, rather than waiting for them to approach her, and she learned very quickly that the easiest way to make friends is to walk right up and tell them your name. Although Hermione continued to struggle when it came to keeping friends, she became greatly improved at making them and remained on good terms with most of her classmates.

The summer holiday before her third year of primary school, Hermione was admitted to a prestigious private institution for gifted students called The Academy School of Hampstead. The whole family was ecstatic, including Hermione, who was greatly looking forward to gaining a cohort of classmates who were at her academic level. She would be able to take courses in French, Latin, Geography… the possibilities seemed endless, and she spent the whole of August preparing for a fresh start, a clean slate.

The Academy School ended up being everything that Hermione had imagined and more. The level of rigor was just what she had needed, and there was a competitive atmosphere among classmates that allowed her to thrive; never had she known so many students who craved learning the way she did. However, the new school came with a handful of cons as well. With competition came stress, and it wasn’t long before nine year old Hermione was drowning under the pressure she had placed so heavily atop her own shoulders. Her parents seemed to notice this, taking extra care to make sure that she ate three full meals a day and did not neglect self care for the sake of top marks.

It wasn’t until Hermione met Evelyn Adley in her fifth year that she found a balance. Evelyn was also exceptionally intelligent, but much more mild mannered than Hermione, which made the two a good pair. They were fast friends; no one could talk Hermione down from a ledge of stress like Evelyn. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who had begun to discuss removing their daughter from The Academy School and placing her in a less cutthroat institution for the sake of her well being, were relieved to see their daughter slowing down a bit. Hermione seemed much more aware of how to control her emotional response to things that were out of her control since making this close friend, and her stressed outbursts soon turned into taking deep breaths and recording her thoughts in a journal instead.

It wasn’t that Evelyn was especially nice to Hermione, or that she explicitly taught her how to control her emotions, it was simply that she was upfront with her. She made it clear when Hermione was overreacting or being too hard on herself, grounding her in the fact that life was too short to completely panic in a crisis. In this way, Evelyn helped guide Hermione into a new level of intellectual maturity, which not only helped her mental health, but also her attitude towards learning. In the months prior, her education had become more about playing the game to win than furthering her knowledge for the sake of learning about the world. However, her newfound appreciation of human connection, coupled with a good night’s sleep, brought Hermione clarity, and, from this point forward, she did her best to focus on absorbing as much knowledge as possible for her own gain.

Hermione’s marks had never been higher because of this new outlook. She spent much of her free time throughout the remainder of her fifth year with her nose stuck in her history textbook, gathering any and all information about Medieval Europe and the diseases of the Dark Ages. Her passion had been reignited, and her responses to exam questions were extraordinarily full bodied and detailed. Unfortunately, this new obsession with literature caused her friendship with Evelyn to suffer, and the two quietly and slowly drifted apart. When Hermione came back to classes for her sixth year, the final year of her primary school career, Evelyn had joined up in a new group of friends and Hermione was back to spending her lunch break reading alone.

Though she wouldn’t admit it to anyone, Hermione was incredibly nervous about starting secondary school in a year’s time. She kept hoping that some miracle would occur and she would be whisked away to study in peace, without the normal pressures of becoming a pre-teen looming over her. The older she became, the more Hermione's rather large front teeth and lack of control over her bushy brown hair made her stick out like a sore thumb in a sea of girls dedicated to their appearances. But it wasn't her fault, she thought, that she preferred to go over her notes in the mornings instead of dolling herself up for school. After all, they were there to learn, not prance around in a beauty contest. Trying to convince herself that it all seemed so incredibly mundane, Hermione began to lose herself in works of fantasy fiction, reading about other worldly creatures like werewolves and giants and merpeople. It was comforting, thinking that there could be more to the universe than what she was familiar with in Hampstead. The existence of these beings and this world was, of course, implausible, but there was nothing Hermione would rather read about.

She would chatter on and on to her parents at dinner about the stories and plots and worlds that littered her bookshelves, explaining the various lore and how it changed from author to author. Mr. and Mrs. Granger would chuckle at her dedication to the characters and their pursuit of a quest, and humored her by inquiring about her favorite magical creatures or world building techniques. 

Any book report Hermione did in class from thereon out was riddled with fantasy elements. When given the choice to write on either The Westing Game or The Phantom Tollbooth, Hermione immediately chose the latter, diving into the world that claimed insects could talk and dogs had bodies made up of inanimate objects. As always, her work was quite thorough, and Mr. Smith even remarked that her report showed the expertise of someone living in the world that the story was about.

It was quite ironic how infatuated Hermione Granger became with these fiction worlds of fantasy and magic. She had no idea that magic very similar to the kind she had grown so keen on studying in novels existed inside of her, itching to spread its wings and show itself; no idea that the creatures whose existence she deemed implausible were all too real, and that they lived amongst her family, cleverly disguised as regular people. 

No idea that, on the day of her eleventh birthday, a knock would come at the door and change the life she had always known forever.


	2. The Exploding Lightbulbs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again with an update! I'm uploading all 3 chapters today so that you all will have more to read :) Enjoy and, as always, leave me a comment with your thoughts below!

There had been multiple instances throughout Hermione’s childhood where she experienced events that she couldn’t explain. In the earliest years of primary school, she had been content with writing off these instances as her mind merely playing tricks on her. However, as she grew older, it became harder and harder to make excuses for what was happening around her.

In her first year at The Academy School, Hermione had caught Timothy Clifton, a particularly insufferable boy, cheating off of her spelling exam. After studying tirelessly the night before to memorize the bonus words, Mississippi and ivory, Hermione was furious at the thought of Timothy getting credit for her hard work. She whipped her head around to get a good glare in before raising her hand and alerting the teacher, but, as she did, Timothy’s pencil and answer sheet went flying off of his desk and straight into the garbage can at the front of the room. 

Hermione was astonished at what she had just witnessed, her anger draining away with each passing second. Timothy, whose mouth was agape, seemed just as surprised.

“Is there a problem Mr. Clifton?” Asked Ms. Gresham, looking up from the homework she was grading.

“Ummmm…”

“Timothy was cheating off of my paper, Ms. Gresham.” Hermione said, still slightly unnerved by the previous events.

“Is that true Mr. Clifton?” Timothy remained silent. “Very well. Please stay after school today, you will be clapping erasers. And no credit for the exam.”

Hermione returned, confused beyond measure, to her spelling.

During the summer holiday before her fifth year, the Granger family had taken their annual camping trip to the Forest of Dean. Although known by their friends for their intellectual prowess, the family was also quite keen on the outdoors. Mr. Granger had grown up fishing with his parents on weekends, while Mrs. Granger was more partial to hiking. They always dragged Hermione along with them on these excursions and, although she felt that reading her book would be a much more practical use of her time, she went without complaint.

On this particular summer day, Mrs. Granger had chosen an especially difficult path to follow for their family hike, and Hermione was struggling to keep up with her parents. Being fully grown, their legs were much longer and therefore moved much faster than their nine year old daughter’s. Out of breath and already a bit exasperated, Hermione stopped to rest for a moment. But, as she bent down to tie her shoelace, she failed to notice that her parents had not stopped with her, and instead took a sharp right turn deeper into the forest.

Consumed with panic upon looking up and finding herself to be alone, Hermione started moving about the area in search of footprints to follow, looking for any sign of her parents. By this point in their trek, they had moved quite far from the campsite, so simply returning there to wait for them seemed impossible. Unable to think properly, Hermione decided the best thing to do was to set off towards where she thought her parents must have gone.

Adrenaline pumped through her body as she ran, near tears, through the thick forest. As the trees grew in number, the space around her grew darker, until there was hardly any sunlight coming through the leaves. Hermione could hardly see where she was, let alone identify if her parents were close by. Something inside of her told her to keep running, and so she did, faster and faster, until it felt like her legs were going to fall off. She had never been so full of fear in her life.

But, suddenly, she was at the campsite. Tears streaming down her flushed face, Hermione attempted to catch her breath, bewildered to see the familiar tents and camping stove sitting around her. _This is impossible,_ she thought to herself, albeit relieved with the outcome. _We were miles away from here, I didn’t even run in the right direction…_

When her parents returned an hour later, the worry on their faces washed away with the realization that Hermione was perfectly fine and sitting atop a log next to the remains of the previous night’s campfire. Mrs. Granger flung her arms around her daughter, tears welling in her eyes.

“We thought you were… We thought we would never find you!”  
“How did you make your way back here?” Mr. Granger asked, resting a hand gently on his daughter’s shoulder.

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

“Her fight or flight must have kicked in…”

“But--”

“I’ve always known our little Hermione to be observant! She must’ve memorized the path on the way up!” exclaimed Mr. Granger proudly, clapping a hand on her back.

But it was not mere observation that had helped Hermione. In fact, she felt as though she had hardly paid any attention to the route at all on their way through the forest, having been distracted by the plot of a novel she had been reading the night before. Arriving back at the campsite had been nothing short of a miracle.

And yet, none of these occurrences matched up to the level of the incident that took place at the start of her sixth year of primary school.

Hermione, who had lost the only best friend she’d ever had to another group of girls over the summer, was feeling particularly emotionally vulnerable when she returned to school in August. Although she had somewhat come to terms with the fact that she and Evelyn had grown apart, she still found herself missing her dearly as she walked the halls. If there was one thing Hermione had always been good at, though, it was being alone, so she settled into a new routine with ease. 

It wasn’t until the second week of classes that Hermione realized Evelyn had changed, and not for the better. The girls she now chose to spend her time with were more interested in the eligible boys of their year than in learning the material that they were being taught (and that their parents were paying for them to study). She had, like the others, begun rolling up her skirt to be shorter than what was guidelined in the handbook and stopped returning Hermione’s small smiles when they passed each other in the hallway; it wasn’t long before a strong resentment and agitation had formed inside of her towards Evelyn.

It was on the 10th of September that Hermione was simply minding her own business, carrying her lunch box and book over to her favorite table, when someone rammed their shoulder into her own. Whipping her head of bushy brown hair around, Hermione was surprised to be standing face to face with Evelyn’s new friends; namely Constance Hampton, who had been the one to make her presence known so aggressively.

“Watch where you’re going. People walk here besides you.” Constance sneered. Hermione shot a look at Evelyn, who was standing idly by as the girls snickered at Hermione’s expense. When Evelyn refused to meet her eyes, Hermione began to bubble with indignation. 

“Interestingly enough, the world doesn’t revolve around you, either,” Hermione retorted. “Maybe if you stopped staring so desperately at Oliver over there, you’d avoid running into people who want nothing to do with you in the first place.” She said, smirking, and made to walk away.

“Excuse me?” Constance said shrilly, stopping her in her tracks.

Figuring that she was now in too deep because of her previous remark, Hermione took in a breath and turned slowly on her heel. “Really, I thought I was quite clear.”

People were turning to watch now. Constance, being at the top of the sixth year’s social hierarchy, and therefore the entire primary school, had never been challenged; especially not by a teacher’s pet like Hermione Granger.

“You know, it’s no surprise that you don’t have any friends. Not after everything I’ve heard…”

“And what exactly do you mean by that?” asked Hermione, cheeks growing warm.

“Evelyn told us what a freak you are. Didn’t you, Ev?”

Hermione’s heart dropped deep into the pit of her stomach. “Wh- what?” The lights above them began to flicker slightly.

“I’m sorry, I thought I was quite clear?” mocked Constance. “She said you’re a neurotic little _freak_ who--”

But the students would never know the end of what Evelyn had told Constance because, before she could finish her sentence, every single light bulb in the ceiling of the lunchroom exploded in a flurry with a loud _crack_. Constance and her posse screamed bloody murder as shards of shattered glass rained down upon them and the rest of the lunchroom.

Somehow, Hermione remained untouched. It was as if a domed force field had appeared around her, deflecting any fragment that fell from above her head. Every student but Hermione was now crouched on the floor. Many attempted to take cover under the small tables, but Constance and the other girls were on their knees, arms raised to protect their heads from the attack.

Hermione stood glaring at Evelyn, her heart pounding wildly. Never had she felt so betrayed, so angry; never had she wanted someone to pay for what they’d done so desperately.

As soon as the thought ran through her mind, the bits of bulb that laid idly on the floor behind Hermione seemed to spring to life, flying straight towards Evelyn’s face. 

Evelyn’s eyes widened in fear as she realized what fate was coming her way, a harsh shriek escaping her mouth. Hermione suddenly snapped out of her rage and watched, horrified, as hundreds of glass splinters found their target in the one girl she had ever truly called her friend. _Stop stop stop_ please _just stop, don’t let her get hurt,_ she thought desperately.

The fragments halted in midair, barely two inches from Evelyn’s pale face. Time seemed to stop; everyone in the lunchroom was frozen, staring at the girls with petrified expressions. As Hermione let out a relieved breath, the pieces of glass fell to the floor, right at Evelyn’s feet. 

They were right; Hermione had never felt like more of a freak.

______________________________

Hearing the muffled voices emanating from inside of the headmaster’s office was agonizing. They were going to expel her, she was sure of it; she had attacked a student.

And yet, had she? Hermione could not have been more puzzled by the events that had conspired minutes before. It was not possible for her to have committed any of the violent actions that had occurred. She had not, to her knowledge, physically made the lights explode, and it was totally impossible for her to have sent the glass flying at Evelyn’s face. She had been angry, that was all. Borderline outraged, perhaps, but Hermione was not, and had never been, a violent person. Nor was she mental, though she figured she must be going that way, seeing as she couldn’t shake the thought that the events at hand had lined up all too perfectly with how she had felt.

 _Stop being ridiculous. You didn’t do anything… you can’t possibly get in trouble…_

At that moment, Mr. and Mrs. Granger came rushing into the lobby of the office, looking rather distressed.

“Hermione! We got a call from the headmaster… what _happened?_ ” Mrs. Granger was incredulous. Never before, in seven years of schooling, had Hermione’s parents been called to the headmaster’s office in the middle of the day.

“Um--”

“Headmaster Lewis will see you now.” Interrupted the secretary blandly, spoiling any meager chance Hermione may have had to prepare her parents for what they were walking into.

Constance, Evelyn, and their parents were already seated in the office when the three walked in. Mr. Granger seemed more confused by the second, glancing around at the other faces.

“Please, take a seat,” instructed Headmaster Lewis. The family did as they were told, albeit reluctantly. “There was… well, an _incident_ in the lunchroom today, and I was wondering if I could hear Miss Granger’s personal account of what happened.”

And so, Hermione launched into the story from her point of view. She explained how she and Constance had gotten into a bit of a row, but that it had been nothing major. She also recounted that, out of nowhere, the overhead lighting had gone faulty and burst, causing quite a shock for everyone. Hesitantly, she added that it had looked as if pieces of shattered bulb had nearly hit Evelyn in the face, but stopped at the last moment, leaving her untouched.

“Headmaster, you can’t… you don’t think this is any of their faults, do you? They’re children!” Mrs. Granger asked in disbelief.

“Normally, I would chalk it up to faulty lighting; a wild coincidence. But…” He turned his gaze towards Constance. “Miss Hampton was adamant that Miss Granger caused the… er… malfunction, if you will.” Hermione suddenly felt very ill.

“All due respect, but don’t you think that is a bit ridiculous?” Mr. Granger said sharply. 

“I _know_ she did it,” Constance piped up, glaring across the room at Hermione. “She wanted to attack Evy. You should’ve seen the look on her face, it was… it was murderous, Headmaster! Right, Ev?” Evelyn stared quietly at her shoes, clearly uncomfortable with her involvement in the situation. Hermione had never felt so guilty.

“Is there any proof of this? I hardly think that the word of a student who, forgive me, has shown a history of verbally tormenting my daughter, should be blindly trusted…” Hermione felt a rush of gratitude for her mother.

“My Constance would not accuse your daughter if she was not absolutely sure, would you dear?” Mrs. Hampton said haughtily.

“Mrs. Granger is correct, Mrs. Hampton. Constance, I cannot accuse anyone of anything without proof, especially not in a situation as uncertain as this one.”

“I don’t think it was anyone’s fault.”

Hermione’s head whipped to the side in shock. It was the first thing she had heard Evelyn say all day and, for whatever reason, it was in her defense. She was utterly confused.

 _“What?”_ hissed Constance.

“How could it be?” Evelyn continued, refusing to meet her friend’s eyes. “I was watching Hermione the entire time. We all walked straight from our classroom to the lunchroom. We don’t normally talk to her… how could she have known that she and Constance would have a row today? And it's not as if she shot at the lights with something… they just… exploded.”

Constance was livid, desperately trying to shut Evelyn up and failing miserably. Hermione, on the other hand, was feeling incredibly validated. There _was_ no way that she could have caused the explosion. And, as much as she had wanted to hurt Evelyn in the heat of the moment, she was far more logical than that. It had been a coincidence, she was nearly sure of it.

“Miss Granger?” Headmaster Lewis inquired.

After a moment, Hermione responded, “It wasn’t me, Headmaster. I swear.”

Silence filled the small room, tension hanging in the air like a wet blanket.

“Well, without proof I suppose I cannot place any blame,” Constance and her mother both opened their mouth to retort, but the headmaster stopped them before they had the chance. “Miss Granger has a completely clean record. She is an upstanding member of our community and an incredible intellectual asset to The Academy. Had she shown any history of violence or bad behavior in the past, I might have entertained this accusation further, but as that is not the case…”

“Thank you, Headmaster.” Said Mrs. Granger, coming to her feet. “If you don’t mind, we’re going to take Hermione home for the remainder of the day. I’m sure this was all quite a shock, and rest is what she needs most now.”

“Yes, yes, of course. All three of you girls may be excused for the day. I’ll alert your teacher.”

Constance stormed out of the room ahead of her mother, who went rushing after her. Hermione quietly followed her parents out, glancing back at Evelyn. “Hang on, I want to thank her.” Hermione murmured to them as they passed into the hallway.

“Alright, but don’t be long, dear. We need to get back to the practice.” Mr. Granger said.

When Evelyn finally emerged from the lobby, Hermione reached out to touch her shoulder, but was met with a look of aversion.

“I… ummm, I wanted to say thank you. For sticking up for me.”

“I shouldn’t have done it,” Evelyn said sharply. “Constance is going to be so angry with me… I’ll never live it down.”

Hermione was taken aback. “Well, you don’t have to be friends with her. You could--”

“Be friends with you?” She asked, looking waspish. “That-- that ship has sailed.”

“I don’t understand.” Said Hermione, voice catching in her throat. 

“Don’t think I didn’t mean what I said to them.” Evelyn snapped. 

Hermione could feel the color draining from her face. “You’re awful.”

“ _What_ did you say to me?”

“You’re a coward. You care more about what she--” Hermione gestured to where Constance had stormed off. “Thinks of you than the people who actually treat you right and… and I feel _sorry_ for you.”

With that, Hermione turned on her heel, leaving a gaping Evelyn in her midst, a sense of newfound closure filling her bones.


	3. The Woman With the Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last post for tonight! Hope you all enjoy these first three chapters, there is so much more to come!

It was impossible to deny that Hermione Granger was special. By the time she was eleven years of age, her parents were quite used to hearing about it, beaming brightly in response with a humble “thank you” here and there, always exhibiting the utmost pride. However, it was also generally quite clear where she got her many gifts from; Mr. and Mrs. Granger were exceptionally intelligent and driven people. Mr. Granger had a knack for innovation, always improving upon others’ designs or ideas. Mrs. Granger was highly logical and made her husband's concepts reality. They were quite the pair, and it seemed that Hermione had gotten the best of the both of them.

But there was one thing Hermione had that no one before her did, and it gave the family quite a shock.

It was the 1st of July. Hermione had only recently ended her sixth year at The Academy School and was well ahead on all of her summer readings and assignments. She spent most days curled up on the cushy sofa in the waiting room of her parents’ dental practice doing schoolwork and reading piles and piles of books. After all, it wasn’t often that Hermione was invited over to other students’ houses or felt inclined to spend the day at the shopping mall in a group like most of the girls she knew. Hermione preferred her own company; no one could get upset with her if she kept to herself.

Hermione Granger was now eleven years old, an age she had been patiently waiting to turn for years. It had always seemed like such an adult year to her; no longer freshly out of single digits and nearly a teenager! And now she was just two months away from starting secondary school. This past year had been her last at The Academy, which meant it had also been the year of her formal Entrance Examinations, or SATs. Although she had prepared for the exams for months and months prior, Hermione had been _incredibly_ nervous. She knew that the institution she ended up attending after primary school would determine the quality of her education and therefore her chance at attending a prestigious university later on. At just eleven years old, Hermione was already planning far into her future.

The exams went fantastically, of course, with Hermione receiving top marks and offers of admission from many academically distinguished schools. Eventually, and with the help of her parents, she decided on Benenden School in Kent, one of the most outstanding secondary schools in Britain. Hermione planned to board and, although she was sad to leave her mother and father, she knew she had to make the best choice possible for her and her education; they were incredibly proud regardless.

The family planned to celebrate her decision that very night with a special dinner at the house. Hermione decided she wanted roast chicken and potatoes, and Mrs. Granger even planned to prepare a delicious pound cake. Until then, though, it was just another normal day, and Hermione spent it lounged out on the waiting room sofa with her nose in a good book.

When her parents finally called her downstairs for dinner later that evening, Hermione was welcomed into the dining room with a vibrant display of balloons and streamers adorning the ceiling, the strawberry pound cake sitting on a display stand atop the table, and a brightly colored present positioned neatly in front of it.

The festivities were just what Hermione could have hoped for. The present, which came as a complete surprise, had turned out to be the complete collectors edition of the _Lord of the Rings_ novels. The set was beautiful, with the books’ spines and titles embellished with gold foil and the covers featuring mystical and detailed illustrations. Hermione threw herself into her father’s arms upon opening the gift; Mr. Granger had been the first to introduce her to the series. _The Fellowship of the Ring_ had been one of his favorite books from his own childhood.

The pair had begun by reading the first book together every night before Hermione went to bed, taking turns reading page by page and adding their own special voices to the characters. Eventually, Hermione grew too obsessed with the series to only read one chapter before bed each day and branched off to finish the books on her own. Mr. Granger continued to read them in tandem with her, though, always up for a rousing debate or discussion about the lore or storylines when Hermione felt so inclined.

After opening her present and admiring the cake, Hermione and her family sat down around the table, recounting their favorite stories from the day. It was one of their little traditions, voicing the high points and low points as they ate. The dinner was, as expected, absolutely delicious. The family soon moved to the living room for a rousing game of Balderdash, a great display of where Hermione inherited her competitive streak; it was clear that both Mr. and Mrs. Granger also strove to take the win in every game they played.

Anyone would have thought that this night would end an ordinary night. Celebratory, yes, but ordinary nonetheless.

It happened right as Hermione’s father pulled out the serving knife to cut the cake that evening. Hermione sat at the head of the table, grinning ear to ear at the dessert that sat before her. The perfect ending to a fantastic evening! Her mother pulled out the camera, ready to snap a shot and commemorate the moment. However, just as Mr. Granger moved to slice the cake, he was interrupted by the sound of someone knocking on the door.

The three Grangers exchanged glances. None of them had invited anyone over to join in the festivities and they had no family that lived close enough to visit without notice. No, whoever was standing on their front porch was completely unexpected.

Mrs. Granger set the camera gently down on the table and made her way to the foyer. As she opened the door, the woman standing before her came as a great shock to behold. Mrs. Granger had never seen someone dressed so oddly in her life! The woman was wearing what appeared to be, and could only be described as, a cloak of deep emerald green. She was rather severe-looking, which was only further accentuated by the small square glasses perched on the peak of her nose and her hair, which was drawn tightly into a bun at the base of her head. In her arms was a clipboard with a piece of parchment, ancient and yellowed, attached to it. A feather-- no, a quill?-- sat on top of the parchment. Mrs. Granger tried her best to make out what was written so neatly on the paper, but the woman merely hugged it tighter to her body and smiled a tight-lipped smile at her.

“Mrs. Granger, hello. My name is Minerva McGonagall. Are your husband and daughter home, as well?”

“I’m terribly sorry, but we already know where we stand politically--”

“Oh dear, no no, I am not here about politics!” Said McGonagall swiftly. “May I come in?”

Mr. Granger and Hermione appeared from the kitchen. “Actually--”

“Ah, Miss Granger!” Exclaimed McGonagall with a smile. “Excellent.”

“I’m sorry, but--”

Before Mrs. Granger could finish her sentence, Minerva McGonagall had already made her way inside to the living room without invitation, taking a seat on one of the armchairs by the fireplace. “Let’s get right down to it, I am a very busy woman and would hate to take up too much of your time.”

“I don’t understand…” Said Hermione, taking the words right out of her parents’ mouths. “Who are you? How do you know who I am?” She came over and perched herself on the edge of the sofa, across from the strange woman.

“My name is Minerva McGonagall. I am the Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts School.”

“Oh!” Exclaimed Mrs. Granger, relieved. “If this is about recruiting our daughter for your institution we’re flattered, but she already plans on attending a highly prestigious academy.”

“Yes, and unfortunately we wouldn’t think it best to change course so close to the beginning of the year.” Hermione’s father said practically.

“I absolutely understand, Mr. Granger, but I’m afraid you don’t have much of a choice.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Why don’t you two have a seat,” McGonagall said, gesturing to the sofa. The pair reluctantly complied, flanking either side of their daughter. “Now. Hogwarts is no ordinary school.”

“Benenden isn’t ordinary either,” Hermione piped up, advocating for her new institution. “They only take the brightest students so that we’ll be exposed to an environment that allows us to reach our highest academic potential.” She recited.

McGonagall peered at the little girl over the tops of her glasses, both bemused and entertained by her spirit. After a moment, she adjusted her papers and asked, “Miss Granger, have you ever made anything happen that you couldn’t explain?”  
Immediately, Hermione thought back to that fateful day in the lunch hall. The lightbulbs had exploded on their own… or had they? Could this woman know what had happened? That the glass had nearly attacked Evelyn? Was she insinuating that it _had_ been her fault? Suddenly, other unexplainable instances flooded Hermione’s brain. The time she made Timothy Clifton’s papers fly into the trash, the time she had made it back to the campsite with little to no sense of direction…

“I… I once made a boy’s papers fly into the garbage can when I realized he was cheating off of my exam.” Hermione said, picking the easiest one to recount. It was fleeting, but she could swear McGonagall gave her an approving look; she seemed almost impressed.

“What I’m sure Hermione means is that she told the teacher about the boy cheating. There isn’t any way that she could have made the papers fly with pure will, it would have been the wind or some other coincidence.” Mr. Granger said, as though to reassure McGonagall.

“Actually, Mr. Granger, I am positive that Miss Granger’s account of the event is correct.”

“How could you--”

“I have it on record,” She said, flipping through the layers of parchment. “Right here. Along with an instance of apparition at the Forest of Dean and some exploding lightbulbs and levitation at The Academy School of Hampstead. But I’m getting ahead of myself.” McGonagall said, straightening her things.

“How did you know about that? The lights?” Hermione asked nervously. “Am I in trouble?”

McGonagall looked at her kindly. “Quite the opposite, Miss Granger. Haven’t you wondered why these things happen to you? How you could have done something so implausible?” Hermione nodded her head in anticipation of the answer. “As I said before, I am the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

A heavy silence blanketed the room. It was nearly a minute before anyone said anything in response. Hermione could not have been more flabbergasted. _This has to be a dream_ , she thought. _I’ll wake up in a few minutes and this will all have been a dream._

“I’m sorry, but… do you mean to say that Hermione is a witch?” Said Mrs. Granger in disbelief. Mr. Granger looked at the woman, his mouth agape.

“That is exactly what I mean to say, Mrs. Granger. Your daughter is part of a special population of individuals who have the ability to practice magic.”

“I’m sorry but… this is… preposterous!” Exclaimed Mr. Granger suddenly, letting out a tense laugh. “Magic doesn’t exist in the real world.”

“Doesn’t it?” Asked McGonagall with the raise of an eyebrow. Before anyone could ask her to elaborate, the woman removed a thin wooden stick from the pocket of her cloak and waved it gracefully at the coffee table before them. In the blink of an eye, the table was replaced with a sleeping leopard. Hermione felt as though she might faint. “You see, Mr. Granger, magic exists all around us, despite the fact that the wizarding world is hidden from muggles,” She quickly added, “Muggle is a term for those who do not possess such abilities.”

“It’s real…” Hermione whispered in disbelief. “Everything in the books I read… it’s all real?” This time it was a question, and it was aimed at McGonagall.

She smiled softly back at Hermione. “Not exactly the way you know it to be, but yes. Magic exists.”

“Well, of course, there are too many different versions of magical lore for all of them to be true but--”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, dear!” McGonagall exclaimed, chuckling. “Now…” She waved what Hermione assumed to be her magic wand at the leopard and it transformed back into the table. “I always have had an affinity for cats.” She said pleasantly to herself.

“Ms. McGonagall--”

“Minerva.” She offered.

“Erm… Minerva… what does all of this mean for our family?” Asked Mrs. Granger.

McGonagall snapped her fingers and an envelope appeared in thin air by her side. Hermione’s eyes widened at the discovery that it was addressed to her, and it floated casually across the room, stopping right in front of her face. 

“Go ahead, dear, open it.” McGonagall encouraged. And so she did.

**HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Miss Granger,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on the I September.

Yours sincerely, 

_Minerva McGonagall_

Deputy Headmistress

“Minerva we can’t possibly--”

“I want to go.” Hermione interrupted.

“Now, Hermione…”

“If there’s magic I want to learn about it. I want to be a witch.”

Silence settled over the group as Mr. and Mrs. Granger exchanged looks of apprehension. “Well…” Said Mr. Granger. “I suppose we could look into it.”

“All due respect, Mr. Granger, but it is imperative that Miss Granger enroll at Hogwarts. If her magic were to be suppressed and untrained the effects could be… disastrous.”

“Please? Mum? Dad?” Hermione asked, looking back and forth between the two pleadingly. After a long pause, Mrs. Granger let out a heavy sigh.

“Alright, Hermione. We’ll call Benenden in the morning and rescind your acceptance.”

Hermione flung her arms around both of her parents. “Thank you, thank you! You _won’t_ regret this.”

“Excellent!” Exclaimed McGonagall. “Now, this is very important, so listen closely. In the wizarding world there is a Ministry of Magic that very much resembles the government in the Muggle world; this Ministry upholds and enforces all magical law. Keep in mind is that there is a Statute of Secrecy that requires your absolute confidentiality on all things magical. If you were to break this Statute,” She said, her lips forming a thin line. “There would be severe consequences. Is that understood?” 

The three Grangers nodded in unison.

“Wonderful! Now, it is also imperative that you follow all of the directions enclosed in that envelope. The papers will tell you exactly where to go and how to buy Miss Granger’s school things. As the letter said, the term begins on the 1st of September. You should plan to arrive at Platform 9¾ at least a half hour before 11. The train leaves, without fail, at 11:00am sharp.”

“I’m sorry, Platform 9¾?” Inquired Mr. Granger.

McGonagall smiled, a twinkle in her eye. “I assure you, the letter explains it all. Someone will be there to greet you upon arrival and help Miss Granger get adjusted. Now,” She said, checking something off on the piece of parchment and standing up out of the armchair. “I really must be going. If you have any further questions or concerns, simply send me a letter. Information regarding how to use wizard's post is enclosed as well.”

As the family walked McGonagall to the door, Hermione studied the mail in her hands, running her thumb over the bright purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter 'H'. “It was a pleasure to meet you all,” McGonagall said, turning towards Hermione and pulling her attention away from the letter. “I look forward to seeing you this term, Miss Granger.”

“Same to you.” She said, grinning up at her.

“Well, then. I must be on my way!”

And, with a loud crack, she was gone.


	4. Diagon Alley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Welcome to chapter 4! This one is by far the longest yet (only a couple hundred words shorter than the Diagon Alley chapter in the book) and I am super proud of it. Be sure to leave me a comment down below with what you think! I hope to update this fic every week if possible and I'm trying to keep the positive energy going :)
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I have taken some lines of dialogue and certain descriptions of objects or shops from the original work. For example, some of the things Ollivander tells Hermione about wands and their cores is straight out of HPATPS because Rowling wrote it best (as much as it pains me to say lol) and it makes sense that he would give a similar spiel to all the students. Basically, don't come for me if things sound similar or the same to the OG book/Harry's experience. This is all, of course, largely inspired by the book and I am trying to be as canon as possible! (This also goes for the golden trio's dialogue in later chapters bc I am, of course, writing the same story, just from a different point of view)
> 
> Love you all! Thanks for reading!

July couldn’t have gone by slower for Hermione. After reading and re-reading the contents of her Hogwarts letter for hours on end the day after it was delivered, she went to her parents with loads of questions. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were still terribly confused (as well as a bit skeptical) about the whole ordeal. The idea that magic existed, and that it was inside of their daughter, seemed insane to two highly logical adults. However, it also seemed impossible to deny that all three of the Grangers saw a Leopard replace their coffee table at the wave of McGonagall’s wand. There was no way that it hadn’t truly happened. And the letter that appeared out of midair! It floated right to Hermione. That had absolutely been real…

Hermione’s parents wanted nothing more than to protect her, though, so they felt using caution was the best way to approach the situation. In fact, Mrs. Granger had _not_ called Beneneden’s that next morning to rescind Hermione’s acceptance of admission as she said she would. The couple decided that they would rather lose a deposit than make a rash decision and cost Hermione a spot at a top secondary school. After all, the last thing they wanted was for her to get attached to Hogwarts and the idea of magic’s existence, only to realize that it had all been a collective vision of nonsense and end up with no school to attend in the fall.

It was no use, though. Hermione was already as attached as anyone could be. By the third day of July, she had memorized every page of the letter word for word, constantly babbling about terms that her parents did not quite understand.

“And we’ve got to be sure we visit Diagon Alley soon, I’m worried all the best cauldrons will be gone!”

“Diagon Alley? I’ve never heard of that.” Her father said, half listening as he sipped his tea and read the finance section of the paper.

“Dad! I’ve mentioned it loads of times, how could you not remember?”

“Hermione, dear, we love you very much and we’re so glad that you’re excited, but your father and I have a lot on our plate with the practice and, to be honest, we’re still not entirely convinced--”

“How could you not be convinced after everything McGonagall showed us?”

Mr. Granger gently placed the paper down on the kitchen table. “It’s just that there are no logical or factual findings behind the existence of magic. Wouldn’t you think that there would be some information over the thousands and thousands of years? Doesn’t that seem strange?”

“The Salem Witch Trials are historically regarded--”

“Historically regarded as the outcome of deceit and fear mongering.” Mr. Granger countered.

“The letter said that the Statute of Secrecy was instituted in 1689 _because_ of the Witch Trials! To save wizards and witches from the persecution that they were enduring from muggles!”

“What we are trying to say,” Mrs. Granger said, coming over to bring Hermione her sandwich and put a stop to the arguing. “Is that we are being skeptical. Analytical. We’re examining the information we’ve been given and trying our best not to jump to any conclusions.”

“Fine.” Hermione mumbled to her lunch. After a moment Mr. Granger piped up once again.

“What was the shop called? Diagon Alley?”

Hermione sighed. “It’s not a shop, it’s a place. A _collection_ of shops.”

“Right… well, let’s plan on going to this ‘Diagon Alley’ the first week of August to get all of your… school things.”

“August?! But that’s so far--”

“We don’t have time before then, dear! And your term doesn’t begin until September, I’m sure there will still be good… cauldrons.” Her mother said hesitantly.

“Alright. Whatever you say.” Hermione said with a slight frown.

Every passing day was agonizing. Hermione had never been more excited to learn about anything in her entire life, and the letter soon began to feel like old news. This didn’t stop her from continuing to read over the list of required materials every day, though, picturing each item in her mind’s eye and imagining what she might do with them. Each morning after breakfast, Hermione would run off to her room and carefully remove the parchment from its envelope, running her hands over the shiny ink. After taking a seat on her bed, she would go on to read its contents:

**HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

  1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
  2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
  3. One pair of protective gloves (dragonhide or similar)
  4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)



Please note that all pupil’s clothes should carry name tags

SET BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

 _The Standard Book of Spells_ _(Grade 1)_ by Miranda Goshawk

 _A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot

 _Magical Theory_ by Adalbert Waffling

 _A Beginners Guide to Transfiguration_ by Emeric Switch

 _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Phyllida Spore

 _Magical Drafts and Potions_ by Arsenius Jigger

 _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ by Newt Scamander

 _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

I wand

I cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

I set glass or crystal phials

I telescope

I set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

Nearly every item on the list gave Hermione the feeling of butterflies. And the books! They all sounded absolutely fascinating. And the implication that there were more textbooks covering magic than just the eight on her list… at least one _Standard Book of Spells_ for every grade! Hermione was positively itching to get her hands on any piece of literature that could provide her with more information. 

Some nights it was impossible for Hermione to fall asleep; thoughts and imaginings flew through her mind as she lay still in the dark bedroom. In a few weeks’ time she would have so many answers to so many of her questions… What is it like growing up in a family of wizards? Are there many wizards who come from muggles? Where exactly is Hogwarts? Would she feel anything running through the barrier to the platform? What creatures are real? Are mermaids good or bad? How on earth would she decide on a wand? These questions and more began to plague Hermione’s existence. She had, of course, abandoned her summer work for Benenden’s and now spent most of her days writing hypotheses, notes, and sketches to herself about the wizarding world to look back on. _In a few years, I’ll think about how naive I was to the reality of things,_ Hermione thought to herself one night as she rolled over onto her side in an attempt to fall asleep.

When the last week of July rolled around, she could barely stand the waiting any longer. The family had made plans to head into London on Saturday the 3rd of August but, on Monday evening, one of the distributors to the Grangers’ practice rang them with the news of a delay. New X-Ray technology that had been expected for delivery and setup on Wednesday, the 31st of July, was now going to be coming three days late.

This was devastating news for Hermione, who now assumed that her parents would push back their outing even further. She prepared herself for the worst as her mother got off the phone, looking rather exasperated. “Well, it’s looking like we’ll have to come in on Saturday…”

“Not ideal, but not the worst delay.” Said Mr. Granger. The pair went back to their prior activities.

“Erm… Mum? Dad?” Hermione asked expectantly.

After a moment, Mrs. Granger let out a noise of realization. “Our trip to London! Oh goodness…” She trailed off, glancing at Hermione’s father. 

“Well…” He said in hesitant response. Hermione’s eyes were pleading. “I suppose that we could move our outing to Wednesday?”

“Really?!” Shouted Hermione, springing up out of her chair at this surprising turn of events.

Her mother studied her for a moment before saying, “Well, we _had_ cleared the schedule after eleven for the installation…”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!” Hermione squealed, running right into her mother’s arms. Mrs. Granger chuckled slightly and embraced her.

“You’re welcome,” She said as Hermione broke away and made to run to her room. “Wait! Hermione, I want to make sure that you’ve thought about all of this.” 

Hermione turned on her heel to face her mother. “Of course I have, it’s _all_ I’ve been thinking about.”

“Not just about Hogwarts, dear… Your father and I just want to make sure you’re… prepared for the possibility that…”

“That it’s not real?” Hermione asked, matter of factly.

“Well… yes.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, mum.” She said with a smile.

Mr. Granger stepped in. “We would hate for you to get upset if this ‘Diagon Alley’ isn’t what you’re expecting.”

“I won’t get upset, I promise.” Hermione reassured. _Because it’s going to be exactly what I’m expecting_ , she thought, smirking inwardly and retreating back to her room to dream about the days to come.

  
  


After what felt like years, July 31st finally arrived. Hermione had to spend the morning at the practice, as both of her parents were needed there to take care of some things before closing. She sat, as she usually did, quietly on the waiting room sofa, this time with her collector’s edition of _The Fellowship of the Ring_. Although she knew it was a bit odd to bring it with her into the city, it brought her comfort knowing that it would be in her bag and by her side throughout this new adventure. There were very few patients scheduled to come in that morning, so the three hours that the family spent at the practice were rather uneventful. In fact, for the last twenty minutes of 10 o’clock, Hermione stared intensely at the clock on the wall and watched the hands move around and around, every tick bringing her closer to Diagon Alley.

As soon as the clock struck eleven, she sprung out of her chair and slung her bag over her shoulder, ready to go. She stood quietly and watched as her parents gathered their things and performed the necessary closing tasks; it was 11:15 by the time they were all in the car and pulling out of the parking lot. Hermione bubbled with glorious anticipation as they left Hampstead behind and entered the streets of London. _This is it_ , Hermione thought to herself. _This is the moment that everything has been leading up to_. There was no way that it wasn’t real, that all of it had been a hoax. Not after what happened in the lunchroom or with Ms. McGonagall. Not after the realization that she could feel the magic inside of her, all the way to the tips of her fingers.

The directions in the letter said to enter Leadenhall Market and walk until you reached Loch Fyne, a seafood bar and grill. Apparently, a wizard’s pub called The Leaky Cauldron could be found directly across from it. So, that is exactly what they did. Hermione led the way through the busy market, parchment clasped tightly in her hands, with her parents close behind. As they reached the alleyway in question, Hermione sped up in excitement. The sign for Loch Fyne was straight ahead, which meant that Diagon Alley was right under their noses. As she looked around, small beads of doubt began to manifest themselves in her mind. Every shop they had passed was absolutely ordinary, catering only to muggles. She had half expected to see some sort of joke or magic shop that held gag gifts but, if you knew what to ask for, carried real magical tools in the back; there seemed to be nothing of the sort. Could there really be shops here that sold magic wands and spell books? The only directions enclosed in the letter were to locate The Leaky Cauldron and ask the barman for help from there. Where _was_ Diagon Alley?

“Well, dear? What does the paper say?” Her father asked.

The three Grangers stood outside of Loch Fyne, looking around expectantly. Nothing. There was no sign of any pub with the name The Leaky Cauldron. No sign of anyone magical. Hermione began to feel as though she were deflating. Until...

Something caught her eye as she moved to face her parents. Taking a deep breath, Hermione turned back to the shops on the opposite side of the alley and focused all of her energy on the idea of the pub. Suddenly, she noticed a tiny, grubby-looking shop; her eyes darted to read the sign hanging outside and was delighted to find that the words ‘The Leaky Cauldron’ slowly began to fade into focus. She noticed that the muggles hurrying by didn’t so much as glance at it, their eyes sliding right past without taking any notice.

“There! That’s it!” She said pointing.

“Hermione, I don’t see what you’re--”

“It’s enchanted, just focus! Between the bookshop and the record shop.”

Moments later, her father let out a gasp of surprise. “By God, it is!”

“I told you it was real! I knew it would be!” Hermione exclaimed, running to the door.

The inside of the pub was not exactly what Hermione had been expecting. Rather than a colorful explosion of energy and magic, The Leaky Cauldron was dark and shabby, filled with older witches and wizards chattering with one another. There must have been some exciting news going around because no one even so much as looked up when the Grangers entered the pub. Suddenly nervous, Hermione glanced down at the parchment again and, taking another deep breath, waved her parents over with her to approach the slightly grimy looking bar.

“Erm… excuse me?” She asked, trying her best to sound confident. The barman, very bald and wrinkled, turned to face her.

“Well, hello! What can I do for you all today?”

“We were told to inquire about… Diagon Alley? My parents are muggles, you see--”

“But of course! No worries, no worries at all. Be happy to lead the way!”

Relief flooded through every inch of Hermione’s body. “Thank you!”

“Not a problem, Miss. Everyone’s in a great mood today. Harry Potter just came through here!”

“Harry Potter?” Asked Hermione.

“I know! Can you believe it? Seems he’s starting at Hogwarts this year!” After a moment he added, “Why, you’ll probably meet him! You being a first-year, too, and all.”

“Yes, you’re probably right.” She answered for the sake of avoiding a long winded explanation, making a mental note to do some research on this Harry Potter person before the start of the year. If there was one thing Hermione hated, it was being out of the loop.

The man, whom Hermione learned to be named Tom, led them through the pub and out to a small, walled courtyard with nothing but a dustbin and some weeds. “Now, watch carefully,” Tom said, motioning for them to step back. He removed a rather long wand from his cloak and carefully tapped it against the brick wall three times.

The brick he touched quivered and wriggled and, one by one, the other bricks in the wall began to move and separate, eventually leaving a large archway for them to walk through that led onto a cobbled street, twisting and turning out of sight. Hermione turned to examine her parents, who looked absolutely shocked and somewhat faint at what they had just seen.

“Mum, Dad,” Hermione said, a smile spreading across her face. “Welcome to Diagon Alley.”

Tom ushered them through the archway and Hermione glanced over her shoulder, watching as it shrank back into a solid brick wall. The family stood motionless at the entrance for a moment, taking it all in. In direct contrast with The Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley was _exactly_ what Hermione had imagined; absolutely vibrant and full of spirit. There were wizards and witches everywhere, scurrying about and doing their shopping. A teenage boy shot sparks at his little brother outside of the cauldron shop, while a little girl stood admiring the owls in a display window outside of _Eeylops Owl Emporium_ further down the street. There was activity all around, and Hermione loved every bit of it.

The Grangers set off down the alleyway. Hermione did her best to catch every little detail, but it was overwhelming. There were mysterious smells wafting out of the apothecary, massive stacks of potion bottles and odd ingredients like eel eyes and frog tongues in shop windows, and, of course, stacks and stacks of books. If Hermione had been expecting lots of books, there were five times as many as she could have imagined. She approached a massive pile displayed outside of a large shop called _Flourish and Blotts_ and ran her fingers across the inscriptions on the spines. The titles read things like _Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland, Holidays with Hags, Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms,_ and…

“This one!” Hermione yelled out to her parents, who were examining brooms in the window of a shop across the way along with a rather large crowd of people. When they approached to see what she was referring to, she continued. “ _Hogwarts: A History_! It’s not required, but I think that if I’m going to school there I should learn as much as I can about it.”

“Excellent point, dear!” Mr. Granger said, still taking everything in. “Let’s get the rest of your books while we’re at it.”

Hermione led the way through the store. It was painfully crowded and the aisles felt rather claustrophobic with their teetering bookshelves that reached nearly as tall as the ceiling and the fact that every shelf was stuffed to the brim with various magical books. It took quite a while to gather everything on the list; Hermione kept getting distracted by other unrequired texts. By the time they reached the register, her arms were full of books she needed and nearly just as many that she didn’t.

“Alright, that’ll be 60 Galleons.” Said the witch behind the register.

Mrs. Granger, who had been removing the usual muggle money from her wallet stopped short at this. “I’m sorry, Galleons?”

“Ah, you must be muggles!” She exclaimed. “We don’t take your currency here, you’ll have to go to Gringotts Bank at the end of the street and swap some out. I can put these on hold for you while you’re gone.”

Hermione nodded at this and set the large stack of books down on the counter with a quick thank you. Her parents, who were now looking quite confused again, quickly followed her out of the store. It seemed that, although Hermione felt very much in her element, Mr. and Mrs. Granger were akin to two fish out of water. _This is definitely going to take some adjusting…_ Hermione thought as they made their way down the cobbled street.

Gringotts was hard to miss. Towering over the other shops, its snowy exterior appeared tilted and unstable, as if magic were holding it up. _And it probably is_ , she reminded herself. The pillars all seemed to be pointing in different directions and yet, somehow, the structure stood solid and unmoved. A peculiar looking creature in a scarlet and gold uniform stood stationed outside of the bank’s polished bronze doors. As Hermione got closer to the entrance, she realized that the creature was nearly a head shorter than she was, with very long fingers and feet.

The small creature gave Hermione and her parents a bow as they walked past him and inside. They now stood before another set of doors, this time silver, with bolded words engraved upon them:

ENTER, STRANGER, BUT TAKE HEED

OF WHAT AWAITS THE SIN OF GREED,

FOR THOSE WHO TAKE BUT DO NOT EARN,

MUST PAY MOST DEARLY IN THEIR TURN,

SO IF YOU SEEK BENEATH OUR FLOORS

A TREASURE THAT WAS NEVER YOURS,

THIEF, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED, BEWARE

OF FINDING MORE THAN TREASURE THERE.

“That’s… ominous.” Remarked Mr. Granger as they stood examining the inscription.

“At least it seems safe?” Mrs. Granger commented hesitantly.

Two more of the creatures ushered them through the silver doors and they entered a vast marble hall. Hermione examined the space; there had to have been almost a hundred more of the same odd creatures seated in a long row behind the counters atop tall stools. They worked away, scribbling in ledgers, examining precious stones through eyeglasses, and weighing coins on brass scales. All around the hall were doors leading off to other parts of the bank, likely underground, and even more of the creatures guided people in and out of them.

“Goblins… something rather strange about them, don’t you think?” A boy said to his father as they brushed past Hermione and towards the exit. 

_Goblins… So_ that’s _what they are,_ thought Hermione, looking around curiously. But why were Goblins the ones running the bank? Did they have a special kind of magic that prevented theft? _Another thing to look into…_

Mr. and Mrs. Granger seemed to have heard the boy as well, and were now discussing something in hushed tones. Knowing she would have to take the reins if they were to get anything done, Hermione sauntered down the hall and approached a Goblin who was weighing a pile of golden coins. She stood there for a moment, waiting to be acknowledged, but he ignored her completely and continued with his task. She cleared her throat as means to make her presence known, but still, the goblin hardly glanced at her.

“Hello… erm… my name’s Hermione Granger? My parents and I are here to trade in muggle currency for… wizards currency.”

The goblin slowly placed the coins in his hand in a pile on the counter and took out a rather large ledger, dropping it on the table; Hermione flinched slightly. “Will you be purchasing a vault today, Miss Granger?”

“Erm…” She looked to her parents for help.

“Do you recommend it?” Inquired Mrs. Granger.

“If your daughter plans to attend Hogwarts all seven years and go on to be a witch, then yes. We recommend it.” He said with an agitated tone.

“Then we’ll be purchasing a vault today!” Answered Mrs. Granger.

“Excellent.” Said the Goblin.

As her parents dealt with the monetary logistics, Hermione studied the details of the room. The hall was flanked with massive pillars that sparkled as though they were made of solid gold. The floor was composed of thick marble and accented with swirling geometric patterns of gold, black, and white stone. At the very end of the hall sat what could only be described as a large podium; a brilliant crystal chandelier hung just above it and another Goblin, likely a manager of some sort, sat behind it, scribbling on a piece of parchment so long that it touched the floor. Every detail of the room was sleek and beautifully ornate, all the way down to the baseboards.

Papers were signed, currency exchanged, and Hermione’s key handed over. As it turned out, Mr. and Mrs. Granger had been preparing a savings account for Hermione made up of muggle money for her to use when she eventually went off to university. They agreed that, for the time being, some of this money would be placed in her vault at Gringotts and exchanged for Galleons, Knuts, and Sickles. This way, she knew there would be emergency money to access if she needed it for any reason while away. As the three exited the bank, Hermione’s heart swelled with a strange sense of belonging; she had a vault! There were Galleons to her name. One step closer to becoming a real witch.

“Where to now?” Inquired Mr. Granger as they stood in the warm sunlight of the alley.

“Well… I suppose we should pick up the books last,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “They’ll be rather heavy and they’re on hold so there’s no fear of losing them.”

“How about your uniform?” Mrs. Granger asked, placing a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “What does it require?”

“Three sets of black robes, one black pointed hat for day wear, one pair of dragonhide gloves, and…” She trailed off, pulling the paper out to jog her memory. “Oh, right! One winter cloak with silver fastenings.”

Hermione could tell that her parents were befuddled by the idea of wearing a cloak and dragonhide gloves as part of a school uniform, but were doing their best to be supportive nonetheless. However, she felt she might throw them a bone.

“Mum, Dad, why don’t you go and sit for a while? Or look around at the ice cream parlour?”

“Are you sure, dear? We can come in with you if you’d like.” Mrs. Granger said, gesturing to _Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions._

Hermione nodded her head and sent them across the way. It was easy to tell when her parents were overwhelmed, and Hermione felt they were due a bit of a break. “I’ll meet you outside of Florean Fortesque’s after my fitting. No one else is with their parents,” She remarked, gesturing to the shop window. “Besides, it looks quite small inside.”

Mr. and Mrs. Granger hesitantly obliged, and Hermione waved goodbye, heading up to the entrance of _Madam Malkin’s_. Composing herself and taking another deep breath to calm the nerves, she reached for the handle and pulled the door open.

There were a few students inside of the shop already being fitted for robes. Two looked about Hermione’s age, while the third was much older. One of the younger students, a girl, stood alone in the corner, waiting for her turn to be measured on the footstools. A rather squat woman was rushing about with black fabric piled high in her arms. 

“Welcome in dear! Hogwarts is it? Just get in line behind Lavender there and we’ll get to you in a moment!” The woman, whom Hermione assumed to be Madam Malkin, said with a kind smile. A second witch moved in circles around the two students who stood atop the footstools, pinning bits of fabric here and there. Hermione nervously took her place behind the girl named Lavender. The other two girls standing atop the footstools seemed to already know one another, and were chattering on about the coming term.

“Oh, I would just _hate_ to be placed in Gryffindor, nearly everyone who’s caused trouble with my father at the Ministry was in Gryffindor. My family would disown me.”

“Don’t be silly, Pansy, of course you won’t be placed in Gryffindor. They’d be bloody idiots to think of you anywhere but Slytherin.”

“You think? I really hope so, I can’t imagine how embarrassing it would be to ruin the generational streak.”

Gryffindor? Slytherin? The names sounded familiar, and yet Hermione couldn’t quite put her finger on where she had heard them before.

“And, you know, Slytherin is still mostly purebloods,” The older girl said in a more hushed tone. “No muggleborns to worry about mucking things up.”

Hermione felt her heart drop deep into her stomach. _No muggleborns to muck things up…_ Against all of her better judgement, against every instinct inside of her that urged her not to, Hermione spoke up. “What’s wrong with muggleborns?”

The younger girl, Pansy, whipped her head around to examine who the question had come from. She was a rather hard faced girl, with sleek black hair and a pug-like nose. A scowl crossed over her face at the sight of Hermione, and she crossed her arms.

“Why do you ask? Are you one?”

Hermione opened her mouth to make a retort, but thought back to the lunchroom and decided to keep quiet.

“Of course you are! Look at your face, you probably don’t even know what the houses are!” Pansy exclaimed with horrible glee. 

The older girl chuckled under her breath and said, “It’s a proven fact that muggleborns are inferior in magical skill to purebloods.”

“I’ve never heard that,” Piped up Lavender. Hermione looked at her in surprise. “My mother says that some of her best friends at Hogwarts were muggleborns and they were brilliant.” Hermione felt a rush of gratitude for the girl.

Pansy scoffed and opened her mouth to shoot out another insult but Madam Malkin came in at just the right time. “You’re all finished, you two. Now, get going, I’ve got a full shop!”

Pansy shot a rather nasty look at both Lavender and Hermione as she hopped off the stool. “See you at Hogwarts, muggleborn.” She and the other girl burst into laughter and headed out of the shop; Hermione could feel her face burning with embarrassment.

“Don’t worry about Pansy,” Said the girl as she and Hermione took their places on the footstools. “She’s all talk. My mom works at the Ministry with her dad.”

“Thanks for standing up for me,” Said Hermione as Madam Malkin slipped a robe over her head and began to pin it up. “I would’ve said something but I honestly don’t know much about the wizarding world yet and… I didn’t want to make a fool of myself.”

“No problem.” She said with a small smile. They stood in silence as the witches performed the necessary alterations. Lavender was about Hermione’s height, fairly average for her age. She had long, curly blonde hair that reached just past her shoulders and a bit of an awkward smile. Hermione couldn’t help but be reminded a bit of the Evelyn she had known years ago; maybe she and Lavender would be friends when they got to school.

“Did your parents go to Hogwarts?” Asked Hermione, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, they did. Both Gryffindors. I’m not sure where I’ll end up. I’d really be happy anywhere but Slytherin, I think. Do you have any idea where you’ll fit?”

Hermione, still having no idea what this meant, simply shrugged and said, “I’m not quite sure yet.”

“Well, I guess you can never be sure. Not until you’re sorted, anyway.”

Hermione just smiled and nodded. The list of things to research that she had been making in her head was growing harder and harder to keep track of.

When she finally rejoined her parents, Hermione did her best to act like nothing was wrong. However, Mr. and Mrs. Granger seemed to notice a shift in her demeanor and began to lead the way a bit more. They helped her pick out a rather nice pewter cauldron and encouraged her excitement over the beautiful brass telescopes. They commended Hermione on her choice to pick up extra parchment and quills, just in case, and watched as she ooo-ed and awed at the owls and cats inside of _Eeylops_ and _The Magical Menagerie_. “In a few years time, when you’re a bit older, we can talk about a pet,” Mrs. Granger said as Hermione held her hand up to a beautiful snowy owl perched by the register. “I’m afraid you’re too young to worry about caring for an animal. It’s only your first year boarding and you should be focused on looking after yourself.”

 _Slug and Jigger’s Apothecary_ was absolutely fascinating. Jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls. Barrels of slimy substances stood on the floor and bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarling claws hung from the ceiling. The smell, which was at best mysterious when standing out in the alleyway, was better described as rancid once inside. Still, the idea that strange items like dragon liver and lacewing flies could create a magical potion was captivating. The man behind the register helped Hermione gather her basic, first-year potion ingredients as her father examined a supply of silver unicorn horns.

“What’s left, Hermione? We must be nearly done by now.” Asked Mrs. Granger as they exited the shop.

She pulled out her list. “Oh, of course, how could I forget? My wand! And then picking up the books.” She added.

So they set off for what seemed to be the only wand shop in Diagon Alley, _Ollivander’s: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C._ The Grangers entered the tiny shop as another family was leaving, the boy examining his new wand. Hermione’s heart began to beat heavily in her chest.

It was very quiet inside of Ollivander’s, and the three Grangers seemed to be the only ones there. Hermione looked around and found that they were completely surrounded by wands packaged in narrow, rectangular boxes. They were piled chaotically and haphazardly all the way to the ceiling; there must’ve been thousands. How would she ever choose with a seemingly endless supply of options?

“Good afternoon,” said a soft voice. Hermione and her parents nearly jumped at the sound of another person. An old, wrinkled man emerged from the shadows at the back of the shop. He had wide, pale eyes and wild gray hair. Hermione thought that he looked a bit like Albert Einstein.

“Hello… my name is Hermione Granger and I’m here--”

“I know why you’re here, dear girl,” Mr. Ollivander said gently. He moved closer towards Hermione and her parents, causing her heart to beat even faster. “You’re the first witch of your family aren’t you?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Wonderful, wonderful,” He said, his silvery eyes piercing into her face. After a moment of silence, Mr. Ollivander shifted his gaze to Mr. and Mrs. Granger. “You must be very proud.”

“Yes, of course.” Mrs. Granger replied with a tight lipped smile.

Mr. Ollivander pulled out an exceedingly long tape measure with unfamiliar silver markings and asked, “Right or left handed?”

“Right, sir.”

“Well, hold it out for me, then, that’s it,” He began to measure various aspects of her arms, before the tape measure took over completely and flitted around Hermione on its own. Mr. Ollivander quickly disappeared into an alcove between two shelves of wands. “Now, Miss Granger, every Ollivander wand has a core of a magical substance; unicorn hair, dragon heartstring, or phoenix tail feather. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard or witch’s wand,”

He approached her with a wand in hand and the tape measure crumpled to the ground. “Try this one out for size. Alder and unicorn hair. 11 inches, reasonably supple,” Hermione took the wand from him, unsure of what to do with it. “Give it a wave, then!” He exclaimed, taking a step back.

She moved to do as she was told but, just as she raised it, Mr. Ollivander plucked it out of her hand. “Hmmmm… not Alder, not Alder…” He mumbled to himself as he went rummaging through the shelves. Pansy’s insults rang in the back of Hermione’s mind, and she felt her cheeks flush.

Almost as though he could read her mind, Ollivander spoke up as he pushed boxes out of his way. “Not to worry, Miss Granger, not to worry. We rarely find a perfect match on the first try… Here you are. Beech, phoenix feather, 9 inches. Fairly springy.” Hermione waved it carefully but Ollivander frowned and snatched it from her. “Definitely not, definitely not.”

With each try Hermione grew more and more nervous. Were they even sure she was a witch? What if she didn’t possess any magical qualities after all? Would she be trapped in this wand shop until someone realized there had been a mistake?

“Ahhh, yes! I do believe I’ve found it. Vine wood and dragon heartstring. 10¾ inches, unbending flexibility.” He rushed over and carefully handed her the wand.

As soon as Hermione took hold of it, a feeling of warmth spread throughout her fingers; it felt as though the wand was made for her hand. Taking a breath, she gave it a graceful wave and, much to her delight, a stream of gold and red sparks shot from the end like a firework. A relieved grin spread across Hermione’s face.

“Fantastic, truly fantastic! How wonderful, indeed.” Mr. Ollivander said gleefully, clapping his hands together in excitement. He took the wand from her and placed it back in its box, preparing it for travel. Suddenly, Hermione was reminded of her parents’ presence in the room. They had never seen her do anything remotely magical. How would they feel? Would they believe it? Perhaps they’d see her differently now… her stomach churned with the thought. Nervously, she turned to face them.

Mrs. Granger’s hand was clutching her heart, tears welling in her eyes. Mr. Granger was grinning ear to ear, looking as though he was going to burst with excitement. Hermione had won many academic awards over the years. She had participated in countless spelling bees and competitions, recited speeches for an audience, even performed a short solo in her primary school choir. Her parents had been there to support her for each and every event, full of admiration and delight. She had watched them cheer her on her entire life.

But, looking at them now, Hermione was sure she had never seen them so proud.


	5. The Journey from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, I am on a roll! I have seriously been so invested in this project and am really happy that things have been going so smoothly. My second update in a week! Ahhh! This is the chapter I have been waiting to write for so so long because Hermione finally meets Ron and Harry. Things are only going to get more fun from here, so please bookmark and stick around if you're liking it :) As always, drop a comment with your thoughts, I love chatting with everyone!

Hermione’s last month at home was bittersweet. After her display of magic at Ollivander’s in Diagon Alley, Mr. and Mrs. Granger had completely changed their tune about all things witchcraft and wizardry. If they were still skeptical about her going to Hogwarts, they certainly didn’t show it. Instead, they began to take an active interest in Hermione’s newfound magical knowledge, asking her about the dormitories at the school and the areas of study she would be pursuing throughout the coming term. The pride and joy of having a witch in the family had finally set in and Hermione could not have been more grateful for their support.

Ever since her conversation with Pansy in _Madam Malkin’s_ , though, Hermione had begun to feel incredibly insecure about her skills going into her first year of school. Although Lavender had said that muggleborns were no lesser than pureblood wizards and witches, the more reading Hermione did, the more worried she became. Having delved into _Modern Magical History_ , she found that there was a great deal of debate about muggleborns. In fact, there had been an entire wizarding war on the subject. A terrible and cruel dark wizard named Voldemort (who is generally referred to as You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in the magical community) believed that muggleborns, and even half-bloods, should be exterminated. You-Know-Who and his followers, called Death Eaters, killed thousands upon thousands of people during the eleven year span of the war. Ultimately, he was defeated by a baby boy. This was the same boy who had passed through The Leaky Cauldron just minutes before Hermione and her family on the 31st of July. His name was Harry Potter, and he was apparently quite famous.

No one knew why Harry had survived the attack; in fact, he is still the only known person to have survived a killing curse, and the only trace left behind was a peculiar scar in the shape of a lightning bolt on his forehead. He was an anomaly, and Hermione was incredibly interested in meeting him.

Hermione found all of her school books incredibly fascinating. She spent nearly every day of August holed up in her room reading and annotating them, absorbing as much information about the wizarding world as possible. By the last day of the month, she had memorized nearly every detail covered about the castle in _Hogwarts: A History_ and was a self-proclaimed expert at mentally preparing potions. However, Hermione was most proud of her spell work. After a few days of fiddling around with her wand and _The Standard Book of Spells_ _(Grade 1)_ , she was able to cast a strong _Lumos_ charm, which illuminated the tip of her wand like a kind of flashlight. Her parents had been astounded by this, though nervous to hear that their daughter had been practicing magic unsupervised inside of their home. After a long talk, Hermione promised to only practice some simple charms, no hexes or jinxes allowed, and that she would keep her door open at all times for her parents to hear if something went wrong.

This was unnecessary, though, as Hermione avoided any and all incidents. The only mishap that occurred was during one of her first attempts at the scouring charm. Not considering the power of the spell, she cast it at a dirty penny lying on her desk; soapy water blasted from the end of her wand and hit the penny, shooting it straight at her window and splitting a bit of the glass. Hermione used this as an excuse to turn her focus to learning, and mastering, a basic mending charm, and her window was fixed within the week.

The insults and anti-muggleborn ideology that rang in the back of her mind only fueled her fire more; Hermione had made it her goal to know more than any other first year come start of term. She wanted nothing more than to prove everyone who had ever doubted, or ever would doubt, her abilities wrong. However, she also just desperately wanted to fit in and earn high marks, and her insecurities told her that the only way to achieve this was to practice and study day and night. Anything non-magical came last on Hermione’s list of priorities. There were no more excuses for her to be out of the loop, no more reasons to not know the details of magical history or that there were four houses at Hogwarts which they would be sorted into on their first night at the castle. Hermione had no more margin for error; she _needed_ to fit in.

  
  


Hermione hardly got any sleep the night before the train was set to leave. She spent the entire night tossing and turning in her bed and, any time she managed to fall asleep for an hour or two, was haunted by terrible dreams. In one, a professor asked her to identify Aconite and name a potion in which it is used but, when she opened her mouth to answer, it was as though her mind had been wiped blank. Everyone in the classroom burst into harsh, sharp laughter and Pansy, dressed head to toe in Slytherin green, pushed her out of the room, chanting about how idiotic muggleborns are. Hermione woke up in a cold sweat and spent the time between two and three o’clock in the morning reading and rereading the chapter on the Awakening Potion to ensure she never forgot about Aconite again.

By six o’clock, she gave up on making up for the sleep she had lost during the prior hours of the night and began to get dressed and pack the rest of her things. An excited nervousness flowed throughout her entire body as she folded a sweater and packed it into the side of her trunk to keep the glass bottles of potion ingredients safe during the journey. There was a bit of a struggle trying to fit every book she had bought in Diagon Alley into her case, so she ended up having to leave a few of the larger ones that weren’t required on her shelf at home. Just before fastening the trunk closed, Hermione made sure to place a set of her uniform on the top -- she’d change on the train. After all, it seemed against the Statute of Secrecy to go parading around in robes at King’s Cross in the middle of broad daylight. She double and triple-checked the list from the letter McGonagall had given her to ensure that nothing got left behind, and then spent the remaining half hour sitting on her bed and fiddling with her wand until she heard her parents get up to make breakfast.

The ride to King’s Cross Station was an emotional one. Though they still had about an hour before saying their goodbyes, it seemed to be finally hitting Mr. and Mrs. Granger that their daughter was leaving them. In a few weeks, Hermione would turn twelve, marking the first of many birthdays she would now be spending away from her parents. Their little girl was growing up and, despite their immense pride, it was difficult for them to let her go.

The Grangers reached the station at around 10:15 in the morning. With the train set to leave right at eleven, they planned for plenty of time to get things set and make sure Hermione was comfortable. After managing to secure a trolley and get her trunk situated, the family headed off to the platforms.

The first time Hermione had read the directions about how to access Platform 9¾ to her parents, they had been slightly unreceptive. It seemed that the idea of running headfirst through a brick wall sounded absolutely mental to two people who had only known about magic for a few days. The three softened up to the idea a bit more after their journey to Diagon Alley further confirmed the existence of witchcraft and wizardry. However, standing in front of the barrier between platforms 9 and 10 on that first of September, all three Grangers seemed to have a case of cold feet. After a moment of standing idly around, Hermione sucked in a deep breath and stated, “I’m going to do it. I'm going to run at the barrier on the count of three.”  
“Well… alright, dear. We believe you can do it!” Her mother said with a half-heartedly nervous smile.

“Now,” Hermione said, turning to face her parents. “Don’t forget to go one at a time and make _certain_ that you aren’t scared you’ll crash into it or stop before you’ve passed all the way through.” She explained, reciting from the contents of the letter.

“Yes, of course. We’ll be careful, now go on!” Her father said, ushering her forward.

Hermione took a quick look at her surroundings to make sure that no muggles were mulling about and steadied her gaze on the bricks. “One…” She tightened her grip on the trolley. “Two…” Her face grew warm with anticipation. “Three!” Hermione started towards the wall, quickening her pace with every step until she was running right at it. She braced herself for impact, flinching involuntarily as she reached the barrier.

But there was no impact. When she opened her eyes, she was coming to a stop at a train platform she had never seen before. Hermione had successfully reached Platform 9¾.

A moment later, Mr. and Mrs. Granger appeared next to her as well. A woman dressed in a long royal blue robe approached them as they stood looking around the station. “Hermione Granger?”

She turned to face the woman. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Welcome to Platform 9¾. I work for the Ministry and am here to assist those from muggle backgrounds in any way necessary before you board the train.”

“Oh, well, thank you.” She said, despite feeling like she didn’t really need any assistance at all.

“The Hogwarts Express leaves at 11 o’clock sharp. You’ll be bringing your trunk and any other belongings or pets with you into your compartment. Have some money ready, as the train will not be arriving at Hogwarts until approximately 7 o’clock and a trolley will go around with food while aboard the train to ensure everyone is able to eat if they so desire. Let me know if you have any questions before you board.”

“Thank you, I will.” Hermione said with a polite smile before setting off down the packed platform. 

The train was a beautiful scarlet steam engine that sat next to the platform with its doors wide open, waiting for more people to pile inside. Many of the compartments were already full, with students hanging out of the windows to talk to their families and say final goodbyes before departure. Smoke from the engine drifted above the lively crowd and a rather large sign hung overhead that read _Hogwarts Express, 11 o’clock_. Hermione’s chest swelled with gleeful excitement.

The platform was chaotic to say the least. Owls hooted to one another in conversation and every color and type of cat imaginable wound here and there between peoples’ legs. Hermione and her parents made their way down the walkway in search of an empty compartment. 

As they walked, Hermione spotted a large group of red-haired wizards and witches to her right. They all looked incredibly similar, except for two boys who were _,_ in fact, identical. A short and plump woman with a particularly kind face, whom Hermione assumed to be their mother, squeezed the smallest boy’s cheek and Hermione heard him groan, “Ugh, _mum,_ c’mon!”

“I found him! I found Trevor!” Exclaimed a rather round-faced boy to Hermione’s left as he bent down to scoop a toad up from the ground.

“For heaven’s sake, Neville, keep an eye on him more carefully or you’ll lose him forever!” Scolded the old woman who stood with him.

Hermione was finally able to find a compartment that wasn’t completely packed around the middle of the train. Her father offered to carry her trunk up for her and successfully hoisted it onto the overhead rack. Now all that was left to do was say goodbye.

Hermione turned to face her parents. “Thank you for everything.”

She embraced both of them as tightly as she could, trying to hold onto what it felt like to hug them. It would be a long few months before she saw them again and she wanted to keep the memory in her mind’s eye for if she needed it.

“We love you very much, dear.” Her mother said softly, choking back tears.

“We know you’re going to be just splendid. You always are.” Her father said as they broke away from the hug, a sad smile painted across his face.

“It’s just six months. And you can write,” Hermione said. “You will write, won’t you?”

Her mother placed a loving hand on her cheek. “Every week.”

She smiled up at her parents as tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill over. “Well… I guess I’d better…”

“Of course, dear, wouldn’t want you to miss the train.”

As Hermione climbed aboard, she felt a heavy ache of sadness in her chest. The train whistled loudly, signaling its impending departure. Hermione hung her head out the window with the other students and locked eyes with her mother and father; they gave her a wave and she returned the gesture. And, just like that, the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station with Hermione Granger aboard it for the very first time.

She watched her parents disappear as the train rounded a corner and then took her seat, doing her best to regain the excitement she had felt this morning.

“Lavender, I love your necklace! Where did you get it?”

The sound of another person in the compartment pushed Hermione back into reality. She looked up to realize she was sitting across from three girls, two she’d never seen before and one she had; the girl from _Madam Malkin’s,_ Lavender.

“Oh, I’m not really sure. My parents bought it for me for my tenth birthday!” Lavender said, brushing the charm with her fingertips.

“Well, I love it.” The girl replied. Hermione realized that the two unfamiliar girls were sisters, if not twins. They looked remarkably alike, both with tan skin and long, dark hair, styled in braids down their backs.

“Thanks, Parvati! I like your hair.”

Hermione’s stomach churned with nervousness. She had never been very good at small talk, especially not about girly things like jewelry and hairstyles. As she mentally debated about whether or not to pull one of her books out from her trunk, Lavender addressed her.

“Hey, I remember you. We met at the robe shop in Diagon Alley!”

Hermione smiled politely. “Yes, we did.”

“Parvati, Padma, this is…” Lavender trailed off, clearly having forgotten Hermione’s name.

“Hermione Granger, pleasure to meet you.” She said, extending a hand to them.

“Nice to meet you, too.” Said Padma. They all shook hands and suddenly Hermione realized that the round-faced boy with the toad from the platform was seated next to her.

“I’m… er… Neville. Longbottom.” He said, slipping the toad into his bag and sticking out his hand. Hermione shook it a bit reluctantly. He had, after all, just been handling a toad, and who knows what that had been?

“Are you all first years, too?” Hermione asked, settling back into her seat. Everyone nodded. “Brilliant. It’s rather nice that we have the chance to get to know some people before the start of term, isn’t it? I’ve never boarded before.” She said, trying to sound confident.

“Neither have I,” Said Neville. “I’m quite nervous, if I’m honest. I haven’t ever been on my own.”

“Us either. Don’t worry, I think we’re all in the same boat.” Said Parvati encouragingly.

Lavender turned to the girls. “Do you two think you’ll end up in the same house? Being twins and all?” She asked eagerly.

_Twins. Noted._

“I’m not sure,” Padma said thoughtfully. “We’re a lot alike in some ways, but quite different in others.”

“I hope I’m in Gryffindor,” Said Lavender dreamily. “Both of my parents were and they loved it.”

“I do, too!” Squealed Parvati. “You know, Dumbledore was a Gryffindor. I’d say it’s the best house, especially with bravery and chivalry being two of their founding values.”

“With my luck I’ll end up in Hufflepuff…” Moped Neville.

“Come now, Hufflepuff isn’t so bad!” Said Lavender. “Though I think I’d rather be a Ravenclaw...”

“How _do_ they do the sorting?” Asked Padma curiously.

“I heard that you have to battle some kind of creature.” Said Neville nervously.

“I heard that it’s a test in front of the whole school and it’s really difficult!” Lavender exclaimed.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Hermione scoffed, finally speaking up. “They use the Sorting Hat.”

Neville looked very nervous. “The _what?_ ”

“The Sorting Hat… Have none of you read _Hogwarts: A History_ before?” Hermione asked, looking around at them incredulously. They stared back at her with various expressions of confusion. _It seems,_ Hermione thought, _that I was the only one smart enough to do some research._

“The Sorting Hat is a sentient being. It determines what house you best fit with _Legilimency_ ,” When she received blank stares in response, Hermione went on to say, “It magically navigates your thoughts and interprets its findings of your personality and values, deciding which house best represents them.”

Silence filled the compartment. Hermione had, apparently, been wrong to assume that everyone going to Hogwarts would be just like her. The familiar feeling of stress and dread that often accompanied her attempts to make friends slowly began to seep out inside of her. Pursing her lips and breaking the eye contact she held with the others, Hermione shifted her gaze out the window and focused on the beautiful landscape that rushed by. The three girls jumped back into conversation with one another and Neville went back to occupying his attention with his toad.

At half past twelve, a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their compartment door and asked, “Anything off the trolley, dears?”

As it turned out, all of them wanted something off the trolley, and Hermione lined up behind Neville. After getting a good look at the cart, Hermione realized that they were selling foods from the wizarding world, not the muggle snacks she was accustomed to. She recognized pumpkin juice from a few of the books she had read over the past month, but nearly everything else was new to her. Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavour Beans, Cauldron Cakes, Fizzing Whizzbees, Chocolate Frogs… Hermione was so overwhelmed she didn’t even know where to begin.

Eventually, she settled on a Chocolate Frog and a couple of Pumpkin Pasties. The pasties were delicious, with a buttery and flaky crust that melted in her mouth and a creamy spiced filling. She was given a great shock, though, when she opened her Chocolate Frog package only to have the frog leap out and onto the floor. She yelped in surprise, and all four of her compartment-mates lunged for it. Parvati ended up grabbing it by the arm just before it escaped through the window, shaking it off a bit before handing it over to Hermione. “Thanks,” She said sheepishly. “I didn’t realize it would… move like that.”

“You’ve never had a Chocolate Frog before?” Asked Padma, popping a jelly bean into her mouth.

“She’s the first witch of her family.” Lavender said, shooting her a smile. _So she did remember..._

“Really? You must be really excited, then!” Exclaimed Neville.

“I am. I’ve been learning everything I possibly can about Hogwarts and the wizarding world.” Hermione replied, placing the frog carefully back in the container.

“That explains why you knew about that hat,” Said Lavender. “Most students go in not knowing how the sorting ceremony works. Our parents and siblings tend to keep it a bit of a secret, and I suppose most eleven year olds don’t read through history books for fun.” Hermione knew she didn’t mean the comment as a dig, but it felt like one regardless; a warm blush crept up onto her cheeks and she went back focusing her attention on the sweets in her lap.

The hilly countryside that was once flying by outside of the compartment window had now transformed into a thick forest, accented with dark green hills and twisting rivers. Hermione reckoned they had to be getting rather close to Hogwarts, so she decided to change into her school things. As she adjusted her tie and pulled the robes higher up on her shoulders, she realized that she finally felt in her element. Many of the other students had changed into their robes as well, including the other girls and Neville, and they were all beginning to look like real students. Hermione thrived in a uniform; it made her feel like part of a team.

“No! Trevor!” Shouted Neville frantically.

“What is it, Neville?” Asked Padma looking quizzical.

“My toad, he must’ve jumped out of my bag when I wasn’t paying attention. I’ll bet he slipped out of the compartment when the trolley witch came by!”

Hermione sighed. “I’ll help you find him, Neville.”

A look of immense gratitude washed over his face. “Really? You’re sure?”

“Well, it’s not as if there’s much else to do.” She said, shrugging.

“Thank you! We should check all of the compartments, just to be sure.”

And so, Hermione set off to look for Neville’s toad. The only trouble was that there was no way for her to know which compartments Neville had already been to. He had taken off so quickly that Hermione hadn’t noted the direction he went in and was bouncing around the train rather frantically. Thinking it would have been much more productive for each of them to take a side and move down the line, Hermione felt herself getting a bit exasperated. The first two compartments she visited were full of much older students who seemed to feel badly that a student had had the forethought to bring a toad at all (“ _Most embarrassing pet, a toad. I’d try and lose mine, too…_ ”). By the time she approached the third compartment, Hermione was regretting her decision to volunteer her help, thinking that she’d rather be back discussing nail polish with Lavender and the Patil twins right about now.

Suddenly, Neville ran up to her in a panic. “I’ve asked _loads_ of people and no one’s seen him.”

“That’s all right, Neville, we’ll find him. Let’s ask whoever’s in here.”

She pulled the compartment door open to find two boys, likely first years, seated next to one another. The first had a thin face and particularly untidy black hair that stuck out every which way. His bright green eyes would have been quite a distinguishing feature, except for the fact that he wore a pair of circular glasses up on the bridge of his nose. The other was one of the red-headed boys, the youngest, that she had seen at the platform earlier that day. He was thin and gangling, with lots of freckles and a rather long nose.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.” She asked, looking around. Suddenly, her eyes landed on the wand in the red-headed boy’s hand. 

“We’ve already told him we haven’t seen it.” He said, sounding a bit agitated. Hermione’s gaze stayed transfixed on his wand. It appeared to be quite worn, judging by the chips in the wood and its overall battered state. She was even sure that a bit of the core, unicorn hair, was poking out of the end in silvery strands. However, Hermione was certain that the boy had been about to attempt some kind of magic, and was eager to watch.

“Oh, are you doing magic? Let’s see it then.” She said expectantly, stepping inside of the compartment and taking a seat directly across from the boy. He looked slightly taken aback by her willingness to join right in on their conversation.

“Er -- all right.” He replied, clearing his throat in preparation.

_‘Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,_

_Turn this stupid fat rat yellow.’_

He waved his wand dramatically at the rat sleeping in his lap, but nothing happened. Hermione glanced around the compartment to see if anything had been affected, but their surroundings remained unchanged. 

She smirked. “Are you sure that’s a real spell?” It certainly didn’t sound like anything Hermione had found in their books, and she doubted that this boy was capable of understanding more advanced magic than she was. When neither responded, she went on. “Well, it’s not very good, is it? I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it’s the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard -- I’ve learnt all our set books off by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough -- I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?”

The two boys stared back at her as though she had just grown a second head. Hermione suddenly felt that she may have come on too strong, but decided to hold her ground, anyway.

“I’m Ron Weasley,” The redheaded boy muttered.

“Harry Potter,” The other boy said. 

At this, Hermione’s heart leapt. “Are you really?” She asked, sliding over a bit more to get a better look at him. This was the boy from all of her books! She had always thought she’d know him by the scar, but it seemed his hair was just untidy enough to cover any trace of the famous lightning bolt on his forehead. “I know all about you, of course -- I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century._ ”

“Am I?” Asked Harry, looking rather overwhelmed.

Hermione was shocked. “Goodness, didn’t you know, I’d have wanted to find out everything I could if it was me!” An awkward moment of quiet hung in the air, so Hermione broke it by asking, “Do either of you know what house you’ll be in? I’ve been asking around and I hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best, I hear Dumbledore himself was one, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be so bad…” She said, thinking back to what Parvati and Lavender had said earlier. 

Hermione suddenly realized that she hadn’t talked as much as she just had in the last five minutes over the span of the entire day so far. It was as if she was finally getting rid of all of her pent up thoughts; they were spilling out uncontrollably and rather quickly and, as she scanned back through the conversation thus far, she came to the conclusion that it had been fairly one-sided. Beginning to feel a bit embarrassed about babbling on without regard for either of the boys, she came to her feet and tucked a bit of hair behind her ear. Neville was still standing anxiously at the open compartment door, as if waiting for Hermione’s go-ahead to move on to the next one.

“Anyway,” She said, moving to the door. “We’d better go and look for Neville’s toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we’ll be there soon.”

Hermione slipped back into the hallway, bringing Neville along with her.

After about ten more minutes of scouring various compartments and making fools of themselves in front of the older students, Hermione knew it was time to give up the search. “Listen, Neville… I’m sure he’ll turn up but we’re nearly there and I’d like to get my things in order before getting off the train.”

Neville seemed to deflate like a balloon. “You’re probably right. My Gran told me not to bring a toad, I should’ve listened.”

“I’m sure he’ll be easier to keep track of when we get there. At least it will teach you to be more responsible with your things, it seems like you need it.” Hermione quickly realized that this may have been the wrong thing to say, because Neville looked incredibly discouraged by her comment. She watched, feeling a bit badly, as he dragged his feet back down the hallway and towards their compartment. To make matters worse, he was nearly knocked over by a group of some third years who were racing up and down the narrow hallway, leaving him looking even more flustered than usual.

Rolling her eyes at the antics and adjusting her robes, Hermione made to follow him and give the third years a good glare while she was at it. She was quickly distracted, though, by a loud shout from a neighboring section. Alarmed, she quickly followed the noise, only to see three boys running out of none other than Harry Potter’s compartment and looking quite distressed. Hermione slid the door back open and stepped inside. The floor was littered with unwrapped trolley sweets and various packaging, and Ron’s rat was squirming around amongst all of it. “What _has_ been going on?” She exclaimed, frozen in shock.

Ron bent down and picked up his rat by the tail. “I think he’s been knocked out,” He said, looking at Harry. After a moment of closer examination, though... “No -- I don’t believe it -- he’s gone back to sleep!”

And so he had.

“You’ve met Malfoy before?” Ron asked, ignoring Hermione’s question and sitting back down across from Harry. She assumed that Malfoy must’ve been one of the boys who had gone running out of the compartment moments before. Harry launched into a long winded explanation of his own experience in _Madam Malkin’s,_ which sounded as though it had been almost as terrible as her own. Although Hermione knew the story wasn’t meant for her, she was happy to listen and feel a bit included. As she pondered the pair, she realized that she rather liked Ron’s spirit and that there was something about Harry that intrigued her. He was the first person she had met who knew just about as little going into the wizarding world as she had, and there was a comfort in that, even if he wasn’t really muggleborn.

“I’ve heard of his family,” Ron said darkly, breaking Hermione’s train of thought and refocusing it on Malfoy. “They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they’d been bewitched. My dad doesn’t believe it. He says Malfoy’s father didn’t need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side…” This sent a chill down Hermione’s spine. Just another person to watch out for; she was sure he’d be in Slytherin with Pansy. Suddenly, Ron whipped his head around to the door, looking right at Hermione. “Can we help you with something?”

Luckily, an excuse for hanging around quickly popped into her head and she replied, in the most confident voice she could conjure, “You’d better hurry up and put your robes on, I’ve just been up to the front to ask the driver and he says we’re nearly there,” This was, of course, a lie, but it would work in a pinch. “You haven’t been fighting, have you?” She asked hesitantly, glancing around the space. “You’ll be in trouble before we even get there!”

“Scabbers has been fighting, not us,” Ron said, scowling up at her. “Would you mind leaving while we change?” Hermione’s heart sank at his rude tone. She had thought they might invite her to sit down or, at the very least, be a bit more cordial to her.

Defensively, she straightened up and remarked, “All right -- I only came in here because people are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors,” Again, this was only half true, but she too badly wanted to save face to care. Moving to leave, she paused and then looked back at Ron. “And you’ve got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?” She remarked, gesturing to the bridge of her own nose. 

With that, Hermione turned on her heel and ventured back out into the hall, Ron’s eyes boring into the back of her head all the while.

As she slipped back into her compartment, a voice echoed throughout the train: “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.”

Hermione was quite pleased to hear this. She was rather small and had been worried about how on earth she would be able to drag such a heavy trunk up to the castle on her own. Outside of the window, the world looked quite dark; mountains and forests rushed past underneath a deep purple sky, coming more and more into focus as the train gradually began to slow. The excitement Hermione had tried to call on hours before was finally emerging within her. Soon they’d be inside the castle, seated underneath the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. She’d belong to a house and maybe even be on her way to making some friends! Butterflies danced in the pit of her stomach at the thought.

The train slowed right down and finally stopped as people quickly began to push their way to the doors and out into the crisp cold air of nighttime. The students were greeted at the small platform by a very large man with shaggy hair and a wild, tangled beard. He held a glowing lantern high above their heads and his voice boomed out, “Firs’-years! Firs’-years over here!” Hermione quickly made her way through the crowd and over to the man. Suddenly, she heard him say, “All right there, Harry?” 

She whipped her head around to see Harry and Ron coming up behind her. Rather than try to join them, as she might have before Ron had been so rude, Hermione turned right back around and ignored them completely. _There, that’ll show them._

The longer she pretended to snub them, though, the more she realized that they didn’t even seem to notice her. Her heart sank a bit lower.

“C’mon, follow me -- anymore firs’-years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’-years follow me!” The giant man shouted out again. Carefully, the group of first years followed him down a steep and narrow path. There was almost no light to guide their steps, and Hermione had the eerie feeling that there was something in the trees surrounding them, waiting to jump out at any moment. Nobody spoke very much. Hermione swore she heard Neville sniffle once or twice.

“Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec,” The man called out, breaking the silence. “Jus’ round this bend here.”

A loud “Oooooh!” escaped the crowd and Hermione gasped in awe, her hand flying up to cover her mouth.

The dark and narrow pathway had opened up to the edge of a massive black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers. Hogwarts.

“No more’n four to a boat!” The giant man yelled out, pointing to a fleet of little boats bobbing in the water by the shore. Hermione rushed down towards them.

Somehow, Ron and Harry had slipped in front of her along their journey. She watched as they beelined towards a boat near the front of the fleet. Hermione made a snap decision to follow them. She was determined to make at least one friend tonight; Ron seemed out of the question, but maybe Harry would turn out to be a viable option. And, anyway, Hermione was out of ideas; ignoring them hadn’t seemed to do anything at all.

She managed to secure herself a spot on the same boat as the boys. It seemed that Neville had taken to following _her_ around just as she had them, and ended up the fourth and final addition to the grouping.

“Everyone in?” Shouted the man, who took up almost an entire boat himself, “Right then -- FORWARD!”

The fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Not a single person seemed to find the words to speak; they were all staring, transfixed, at the great castle up ahead. Hermione decided that the illustrations and images she had seen and studied had hardly done it justice; Hogwarts was even more beautiful in person than she could have imagined. It towered majestically over them as they sailed nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

“Heads down!” The man yelled out as the first few boats reached the cliff. They all did as instructed, and passed through a curtain of ivy which hid a large opening in the cliff face. They continued to sail down a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them underneath the castle itself, until they reached an underground harbour. As the boats docked themselves, the groups of students clambered out and onto the rather slippery rocks and pebbles.

“Oy, you there! Is this your toad?” Shouted the man as he checked the boats for forgotten belongings and lollygagging students.

“Trevor!” Neville cried out blissfully, running over and holding out his hands to take him. Hermione merely sighed, shaking her head in agitated disapproval.

The students moved up a passageway in the rock, following the glow of the lantern before coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass, right in the shadow of the castle.

They all walked up a short flight of stone steps to the huge, oak front door and crowded around closely so as to not miss anything.

“Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?”

The man raised his gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.


	6. The Sorting Hat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy, everyone! As always leave me some kudos if you like it and some comments with your thoughts!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I have made this disclaimer before but wanted to add it specifically to this chapter. Because much of the first-years' experience just before and after the sorting is universal, I have used many direct quotes of description (and obviously dialogue) from the original work. I do not own this story concept or the sentences I have taken from the book and embedded in my own work. Not every chapter will be so similar to the original, but this one ended up being that way for a variety of reasons. Thanks!

The door swung open at once. Ms. McGonagall, in her signature emerald green robes, stood before the students, looking very poised and stern; exactly as Hermione remembered her.

“The firs’-years, Professor McGonagall,” Said the large man.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.”

She pulled the door wide. The Entrance Hall was so big that Hermione reckoned the Grangers’ entire house could have fit comfortably inside of it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches that reminded Hermione a bit of _The Hunchback of Notre Dam_ e, the ceiling too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

The students nervously followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Hermione realized that hundreds of voices could be heard, muffled, from behind a door to their right -- the rest of the school must already be here -- but Professor McGonagall ushered the first-years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, packed rather closer together than Hermione would have liked, peering around anxiously.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend time in your house common room.

“The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn you house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points will be awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up while you are waiting.”

Hermione noticed that her eyes lingered a moment on Neville, whose cloak was fastened underneath his left ear, and on Ron’s dirt-smudged nose. Out of the corner of her eye, she swore she saw Harry try and smooth down his hair.

“I shall return when we are ready for you,” Said Professor McGonagall. “Please wait quietly.”

She left the chamber. Silence rang out amongst the students for a few moments.

“How exactly do they sort us into houses?” Harry whispered to Ron.

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but Ron was faster. “Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking.”

Hermione rolled her eyes so hard they might have fallen out of her head if she were a cartoon. It didn’t surprise her that Ron hadn’t done his research. However, when she glanced around, she found that much of the room looked terrified at the prospect of standing up in front of the whole school and participating in some kind of test. Despite having read about the sorting, the nervous air of the room began to make her feel anxious. What if there was more to it than was recorded in _Hogwarts: A History_ ? What if she had to perform a spell to prove her worth before sitting down? McGonagall _had_ advised them to prepare while she was gone…

“I thought you said it was just a hat?” Whispered Neville in a high pitched voice.

“That’s what I _thought_ ,” She hissed back. 

“Do you think we’ll need to know any spells?” Asked a girl with a rather pink face and blonde pigtails to Neville’s left.

“I’m not quite sure. Luckily, I had the forethought to practice _loads_ of charms beforehand,” Hermione said, speaking very quickly from the nerves. “I suppose if they asked for our most impressive I could perform the scouring charm but… oh, no, I don’t have anything to perform it on!”

“The scouring charm? How does that one go?” Asked another student.

“Erm… I’m not sure that I could explain it right--”

Suddenly, something happened which made Hermione stop in her tracks and let out a high pitched scream, along with several of her classmates; even Harry physically jumped on the spot.

“What the--?”

The students let out a collective gasp as a large group of ghosts streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room, talking to each other and hardly glancing at the first-years. It seemed that they were arguing, and the rather short and fat one was saying, “Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance--”

“My dear Friar, haven’t we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he’s not even really a ghost -- I say, what are you doing here?”

The ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first-years.

Nobody answered.

“New students!” Said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. “About to be sorted, I suppose?”

A few people, including Hermione, nodded mutely.

“Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!” Said the Friar. “My old house, you know.”

“Move along now,” Said a sharp voice. “The Sorting Ceremony’s about to start.”

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

“Now, form a line,” Professor McGonagall told the first-years. “and follow me.”

Hermione rushed up to McGonagall, hoping to be as near to the front of the line as possible. She ended up behind the blonde girl who had asked her about spells a few minutes before. They walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Although she had read about it in her books, the Great Hall was even more magical than Hermione had imagined it to be. It was lit up with thousands upon thousands of candles floating over four long tables, where the rest of the students sat with their houses. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the Hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first-years up there, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the older students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver.

“Blimey, would you look at the ceiling!” Whispered a boy with sandy-blonde hair.

“It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside, I read about it in _Hogwarts: A History_.” Hermione whispered back. The boy was awed.

The ceiling really was a sight to behold; in fact, it was hard to believe that there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn’t simply open on to the heavens.

Professor McGonagall silently moved across the room and placed a stout, four-legged stool in front of the first-years. On top of this stool, she put what Hermione could only assume to be _the_ Sorting Hat. It looked quite old, having been patched up here and there, and was incredibly frayed and dirty. 

Hermione began to mentally prepare for the possibility that she would need to prove herself in some way at a moment’s notice. However, no one seemed to be looking at the first-years anymore; everyone’s attention was fixed on the hat. Hermione followed suit, waiting for something to happen. For a moment, there was nothing but complete silence. Then, suddenly, the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth -- and it began to sing:

_"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart,_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_if you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind,_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folks use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_

The whole Hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

From close behind her, Hermione heard Ron whisper, “So we’ve just got to try on the hat! I’ll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll.” Hermione’s anxiety slowly began to fade away, leaving behind a slight nervousness that was much more manageable. She had been overthinking things, as she tended to do in stressful moments. Of course they weren’t going to have to perform magic; they hadn’t even started classes yet! She had proven herself enough by being a witch. It would be silly for them to bring so many students out to the school just to send them back home again hours later.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment; Hermione’s heart began to pound in her chest.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” She said. “Abbott, Hannah!”

The pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment’s pause--

“HUFFLEPUFF!” Shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Hermione caught a glimpse of the Fat Friar’s ghost waving merrily at her.

“Bones, Susan!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!” Shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

“Boot, Terry!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

The table second from the left clapped this time, several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

A girl named Mandy Brocklehurst was placed in Ravenclaw as well, just before Lavender became the first new Gryffindor, causing the table on the far left to explode with rowdy cheers. Hermione noticed that all of the other red-headed boys from the platform, Ron’s brothers presumably, were members of Gryffindor house.

‘Bulstrode, Millicent’, a girl with a name that Hermione found rather unfortunate, was placed in Slytherin. Although they were only onto the letter B now, Hermione reckoned there couldn’t be more than 50 first-years. Things were going to start moving very quickly and, before she knew it, they would be at G and it would be her turn.

“Finch-Fletchley, Justin!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

It was clear to Hermione that some students were harder to place than others. A boy named Vincent Crabbe, one of the ones running out of Harry and Ron’s compartment earlier that day, had pulled the hat onto his head for less than a second before it directed him to Slytherin. Meanwhile, Finnigan, Seamus, the boy who had been enamored by the ceiling, sat with the hat for nearly a minute before being placed in Gryffindor.

As Hermione pondered this, she came to the realization that Finnigan, Seamus began with an F, and F came just before G, which meant--

“Granger, Hermione!”

Her heart leapt out of her chest. Jittery with nerves, she moved very quickly towards the stool and, after taking hold of the hat, jammed it eagerly on her head.

Hermione waited for something to happen as she stared at the black inside of the hat. Suddenly and as if from nowhere, a small voice began to speak in her ear. “Hmmm… A fantastic mind. Wit beyond measure, certainly, but would Ravenclaw be best? I’m just not sure…”

She fidgeted in her seat.

“You have an aptitude for collecting knowledge from books, Hermione Granger, but what is most important for you to learn lies in experience. Your heart yearns for friendship, I see that clear as day,” The hat said, causing Hermione to blush profusely. “Wisdom found through others, now _that_ is what you will find to be most invaluable.”

_But--_

“However, you also hunger for success. Your high ambitions are as much a part of your identity as your name--”

_Does that mean that you’re placing me in Slytherin?_

“No, no, not Slytherin. You wish to prove yourself, but not for any reason of personal gain. You are pure of heart, Hermione Granger, and your courage and desire to form bonds with your classmates is strong. There are people at this school who need you, and you must keep them close, so you must belong in GRYFFINDOR!”

Hermione heard the Sorting Hat shout the last word to the entire Hall. She could hardly believe her luck; a Gryffindor! As she removed the hat from her head, Hermione could see that the far left table had exploded into a great display of excitement. She could barely contain her happiness and, rather than move calmly over to join her house, Hermione all but skipped there. As she took her seat, several Gryffindor students patted her on the back, giving her smiles of encouragement.

It was much easier to see the High Table properly now. Albus Dumbledore, the Hogwarts Headmaster, sat at the very centre on a large gold chair that resembled the appearance of a throne. His long silver hair and beard were the only things in the Hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts that were scattered about, and Hermione could see a slight sparkle in his eye behind the half moon spectacles that were perched on the end of his nose.

When it was Neville’s turn to be sorted, Hermione wasn’t quite sure what to expect. She did notice, however, that Trevor the toad seemed to be wriggling uncomfortably around in the side pocket of his robes; he looked as though he was trying desperately to ignore it. The hat took a very long time to make a decision after it was placed on Neville’s head. Hermione crossed her fingers under the table for him as a gesture of good luck.

When the hat finally opened its mouth and shouted out “GRYFFINDOR!”, she was filled with complete and utter shock. Neville in Gryffindor? He was scared of his own shadow! But Hermione was happy for him nonetheless, and joined in on cheering with the others. She even tried to stifle her laughter when he ran off still wearing the hat and had to jog back to give it to the next student, Morag MacDougal.

“Malfoy, Draco!”

Another one of the boys who had gone running from the compartment on the train was now making his way to the stool. Just by his walk, Hermione could tell he was overly arrogant, swaggering like he owned the school. He had a head of blindingly platinum hair and a pale, pointed sneering face that made him look about as pleasant as discovering gum on the sole of your shoe. The hat barely even touched the top of his head before it yelled out “SLYTHERIN!”. _How predictable,_ Hermione thought, rolling her eyes.

To no one’s surprise, Pansy Parkinson, the girl from _Madam Malkin’s_ , was also placed in Slytherin. Interestingly, Padma Patil ended up in Ravenclaw, while her twin, Parvati, was put in Gryffindor. Parvati made her way over to their table gleefully, sliding in next to Lavender and Hermione began to feel very grateful that she knew people in her new house. In fact, all but one of her compartment-mates on the Hogwarts Express had turned out to be Gryffindors! Things were certainly looking up.

“Potter, Harry!”

At the mention of his name, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall. Hermione whipped her head around to get a good look at him as he made his way over to the hat.

“ _Potter_ , did she say?”

“ _The_ Harry Potter?”

Hermione felt very glad to be in the loop.

Like with Neville, the Sorting Hat seemed to be rather unsure about where to place Harry. He sat on the stool for at least a minute as the whispering died out and everyone stared at him expectantly. There wasn’t a single house that didn’t want Harry Potter as one of their own.

“GRYFFINDOR!” The hat shouted out and the cheering from their table was absolutely deafening. Many people jumped out of their seats, whooping and hollering until their throats were raw. The red-headed twins began to chant, “We got Potter! We got Potter!”, and the oldest red-headed boy, a Gryffindor prefect judging by his badge, even got up to shake his hand. Hermione was grinning ear to ear and clapping along just as hard as the others.

One student later, it was Ron’s turn to be sorted. Hermione thought she had never seen someone look so nervous; his face had turned a rather pale shade of green as he walked, fists clenched at his sides, up to the stool. The hat sat on his head for about five seconds before shouting out, “GRYFFINDOR!”

Although he had been quite rude to her on the train, Hermione clapped loudly alongside the rest of the Weasley brothers and Harry. After all, she would have wanted him to do the same for her. And, besides, perhaps they had all just gotten off on the wrong foot. Hermione was certain they’d be spending loads of time together between classes and sharing a common room, so there would be plenty of opportunities to remedy that.

After ‘Zabini, Blaise’ was placed in Slytherin, Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away. Excited chatter broke out amongst the students; it seemed that everyone was still craning their necks to get a good look at Harry. After a moment, Albus Dumbledore came to his feet. He beamed out at the students, his arms open wide, as if nothing pleased him more than to see them all there before him.

“Welcome!” He said, reducing the chatter to silence. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

“Thank you!”

Everyone in the hall clapped and cheered as Dumbledore reclaimed his seat in the golden chair.

“Is he -- a bit mad?” Hermione heard Harry ask the oldest Weasley.

“Mad? He’s a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes.” He responded airily.

The golden dishes that had a moment ago been empty now sat before them piled high with delicious food; roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, even mint humbugs. Hermione, being careful not to eat herself sick, spooned some roast chicken and potatoes, peas, carrots, and a bit of Yorkshire pudding onto her plate. It seemed that most of her classmates did not have the same forethought, though, and she watched Ron shovel bits of a lamb chop into his mouth with the force of a bulldozer.

“That does look good,” Said the ghost in the ruff sadly as he watched Harry cut up his steak.

“Can’t you--” Harry started.

“I haven’t eaten for nearly five hundred years,” He said, somberly. “I don’t need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don’t think I’ve introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower.”

“I know who you are!” Said Ron suddenly. “My brothers told me about you -- you’re Nearly Headless Nick!”

“I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy--”

“ _Nearly_ Headless?” Interrupted Seamus Finnigan. “How can you be _nearly_ headless?”

Sir Nicholas seemed extremely frustrated by this question. Seizing his left ear, he sniffed, “Like _this_ ,” and pulled. His entire head swung off of his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it were on hinges. It appeared as though Sir Nicholas had run into the misfortune of being beheaded by someone completely incompetant at swinging an axe. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick flipped his head back onto his neck, coughed, and said, “So -- new Gryffindors! I hope you’re going to help us win the House Championship this year? Gryffindor has never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron’s becoming almost unbearable -- he’s the Slytherin ghost.”

The first-years turned to look at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. Hermione noticed that he was seated right next to Draco Malfoy, who looked incredibly displeased with the seating arrangements.

“How did he get covered with blood?” Seamus asked curiously.

“I’ve never asked,” Nearly Headless Nick responded delicately.

Eventually, the food began to fade from its plates, leaving them as sparkling clean as before the feast began. With dishes having been one of Hermione’s chores at home, she was intrigued by this simple solution and made a mental note to learn the spell for later use. A moment later, though, puddings appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavour you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, jelly, rice pudding…

Hermione selected a delicious looking eclair as the conversation turned to their backgrounds.

“I’m half and half,” Seamus said, digging into some apple pie. “Me dad’s a Muggle. Mam didn’t tell him she was a witch ‘til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him.”

The others laughed.

“What about you, Neville?” Asked Ron.

“Well, my gran brought me up and she’s a witch,” He said. “But the family thought I was all Muggle for ages. My great-uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me -- he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned -- but nothing happened until I was eight. Great-uncle Algie came round for tea and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my great-auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced -- all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased. Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here -- they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great-uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad.”

Although most of the students found Neville’s story quite amusing, Hermione wasn’t so keen on it. From what she understood, the Longbottoms had been so opposed to having a Muggle in the family that they had put Neville’s life in danger to squeeze the magic out of him by any means necessary; something about that didn’t sit very well with her.

Hermione was soon distracted and brought back to her good mood, though, by the oldest Weasley, whom she learnt was named Percy. He had asked her about which classes she was most looking forward to starting, and they launched into a lively conversation about Hogwarts’ curriculum. Hermione very quickly decided that she liked Percy; he was the first person she had met at Hogwarts whom she felt was a lot like herself.

“I _do_ hope they start straight away, there’s so much to learn, I’m particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course it's supposed to be very difficult--”

“You’ll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing--”

“That’s good to hear, I think I could master that, though animagus transfiguration is what really intrigues me.”

“Oh, it’s fascinating! How do you know about that sort of thing already?”

“Well, I went through all of my school books and more before coming--”

“You’re very smart to do that, you know, I was telling Ron all summer that he ought to do some studying before start of term, it really puts you at an advantage--”  
“Oh, absolutely, I would be horrified to come in completely clueless!”

“Ouch!” Harry yelped suddenly, clapping a hand to his forehead.

“What is it?” Asked Percy.

“N-nothing.”

Hermione was quite sure that it had not been nothing; what on earth would possess a person to cry out in pain for no reason? She realized that his hand was still covering his forehead… right over where she knew his famous lightning bolt scar to be.

“Who’s that teacher talking with Professor Quirrell?” He asked Percy, gesturing in the direction of a very pale and nervous looking man in a bright purple turban at the High Table.

“Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he’s looking so nervous, that’s Professor Snape,” Hermione glanced over a bit to find the man in question; a professor with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin. Percy continued on, “He teaches Potions, but he doesn’t want to -- everyone knows he’s after Quirrell’s job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape.”

 _How… suspicious…_ thought Hermione, glancing over at Harry and his forehead as she finished off the last bite of her eclair.

At last, the puddings too disappeared and Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet again. The Hall fell silent.

“Ahem -- just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

“First-years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.”

Dumbledor’s twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

“Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

Harry choked out a laugh; Hermione, however, did not feel that this was an appropriate moment for joking around and shot him a disapproving look. After realizing that no one else had found the comment amusing, he muttered to Percy, “He’s not serious?”

Percy whispered back, “Must be. It’s odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we’re not allowed to go somewhere -- the forest’s full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might’ve told us Prefects, at least.”

“And now, before we go to be, let us sing the school song,” Cried Dumbledore. Hermione examined the Head Table, noticing that the other teachers’ smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get something off the end of it, and a long golden ribbon flew out, rising high above the tables and twisting itself snake-like into words.

“Everyone pick their favorite tune,” Said Dumbledore. “And off we go!”

And the school bellowed:

_“Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

_Teach us something please,_

_Whether we be old and bald,_

_Or young with scabby knees,_

_Our heads could do with filling,_

_With some interesting stuff,_

_For now they're bare and full of air,_

_Dead flies and bits of fluff,_

_So teach us things worth knowing,_

_Bring back what we've forgot,_

_Just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

_And learn until our brains all rot.”_

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and, when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

“Ah, music,” he said, wiping his eyes. “A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

The Gryffindor first-years followed Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. As they made their way to the dormitories, Hermione tried to take in every detail around her. The castle was magnificent, with thousands of paintings covering the stone walls. Although she had read about it in books, she was still quite shocked when the figures inside of the paintings began moving around. It was as though they had been bewitched to live within the world of canvas. Hermione watched as a rather old wizard passed from one frame to the other, joining a group of witches playing cards. The painting people whispered and pointed as the first-years walked past, gossiping about the new students and their houses. After being led up a series of changing staircases, through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries, and up even more staircases, the group came to a sudden halt. Floating in mid-air ahead of them was a bundle of walking sticks. Percy took a cautious step forward but, when he did, the sticks began pelting him.

“Peeves,” Percy whispered to the first-years. “A poltergeist.” He raised his voice. “Peeves -- show yourself.”

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.

“Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?”

There was a loud _pop_ and a little man with wicked dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

“Oooooooh!” He exclaimed, with an evil cackle. “Ickle firsties! What fun!”

He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked. “Go away, Peeves, or the Baron’ll hear about this, I mean it!” Barked Percy.

Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Neville’s head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armour as he passed.

“You want to watch out for Peeves,” Said Percy, as they set off again. “The Bloody Baron’s the only one who can control him, he won’t even listen to us Prefects. Here we are.”

At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.

“Password?” She said.

“ _Caput Draconis,_ ” said Percy, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it -- Neville needed a leg up -- and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cosy, round room full of squashy looking armchairs.

Percy directed the boys through one door to their dormitory and the girls through another. At the top of the spiral staircase -- they were obviously in one of the towers -- they found their beds: five four-posters hung with deep-red velvet curtains. Hermione noticed that their trunks had already been brought up and placed in front of each bed, marking their spaces. Too full of food and tired from the day’s journey to talk much, the girls all pulled on their pyjamas and fell into bed. 

Hermione could hear Parvati and Lavender whispering excitedly to one another from their four-posters, and she pulled her covers up a bit closer, feeling a twinge of loneliness. _Tomorrow will be the day_ , Hermione thought to herself. _Tomorrow, I’ll make some friends to whisper and laugh with and sit with at meals._ After all, she was part of a house now, a Gryffindor. She practically had built in friends! As she closed her eyes, slowly drifting off to sleep, Hermione thought about how lovely it would be if someone asked her to sit next to them in class or explore the grounds with them during a free afternoon. Yes, she would have some friends soon. She just needed to try harder.


End file.
